Shadows of Doubt A DarkWilson House Redux
by DreamsofSpike
Summary: House/Wilson, dark!fic, an alternate 'verse in which House and Wilson are a couple from the beginning -- but Wilson is not all that he seems. As their relationship gradually gets darker and more abusive, can House somehow find a way to get out?
1. Chapter 1

"Twenty-nine year old female, first seizure one month ago… lost the ability to speak, babbled like a baby. Present deterioration of mental status…"

Not particularly interested in the patient his best friend was describing, House did his best to change the subject, before Wilson managed to rope him into taking a boring case that would take him thirty minutes to solve. He nodded over his shoulder toward a patient he had just passed, glancing speculatively toward Wilson again.

"See that? They all assume I'm a patient because of this cane."

Wilson shrugged. "So put on a white coat like the rest of us."

House smirked, his gaze focused on the floor in front of them. "I don't want them to think I'm a doctor."

Wilson's expression didn't quite manage to be disapproving, a smile barely suppressed on his lips. "You see where the administration might have a problem with that attitude."

House's smile faded away as he shrugged and casually pointed out, "People don't want a sick doctor."

"Fair enough. I don't like healthy patients," Wilson retorted with a rueful grin, before deftly turning back to his original topic of conversation. "The twenty-nine year old female…"

House suppressed a sigh of resignation, already aware that he would end up taking Wilson's patient before all was said and done. Still, he kept up the façade of resistance, responding with a smirk, "The one who can't talk. I liked that part."

"She's my cousin."

House didn't allow Wilson's remark to faze him, immediately knowing by Wilson's expression, the inflection of his voice, that it was a lie. Wilson was just trying to manipulate him into taking the case. Still, it didn't matter. House knew he would end up treating the young woman, regardless of Wilson's dishonesty.

Lately, it seemed he couldn't deny the younger man anything.

Letting him _think_ that he would, however – that was an entirely different matter.

"And your cousin doesn't like the diagnosis. I wouldn't, either. Brain tumor. She's gonna die. Boring."

Wilson kept arguing, and his lack of response to House's calloused words only confirmed his suspicions that Wilson was lying; the patient in question was not his cousin. Wilson was making up a story to gain House's sympathy, to manipulate him into doing what he wanted.

And it didn't matter.

As Wilson persisted, House found that he was far more focused on the motion of the younger man's lips than he was on the actual words they were forming. He caught himself casting glances in Wilson's direction, eagerly observing the pleading warmth in his dark eyes with more interest than a mere friend should have taken.

When he realized what he was doing, House quickly averted his gaze before Wilson could notice, swallowing nervously as he tried to put the disconcerting thoughts and feelings out of his head, tried to pretend they didn't exist – but realized almost immediately that it was a losing battle.

His feelings for Wilson were… changing.

_You've just been spending too much time together is all,_ House told himself. _Becoming too attached. When you've only got one important relationship of _any_ kind in your life, your feelings for that person are bound to get a little… confused. That's all this is. You're just… confused._

"Come on," Wilson urged him, stopping to face him with a smile so irresistible that it made House determined to resist it at all costs. "Why leave all the fun for the coroner? What's the point of putting together a team if you're not going to use them? You've got three overqualified doctors working for you. Getting bored."

"They should get used to it," House snapped, aware that there was just a touch too much irritation in his voice as he turned and started toward the elevators again. "Ninety-five percent of the cases they take in their careers are going to be boring. This is just… good practice."

Wilson stood still a moment in the hallway, watching House go, before hurrying after him, catching up to him as he was waiting for the elevator doors to open.

"I thought you said the _case_ was boring. So… wouldn't that type of practice be just as effective? And also – more cost efficient?" Wilson pointed out.

"You're thinking this will be as interesting as the cat woman?" House gave Wilson a pointed look – which he seemed to miss.

Amusement in his voice and eyes, Wilson shrugged, shaking his head slightly in confusion as the elevator doors slid open. "Her doctor was treating her for a heart attack, and you diagnosed a cat allergy. Over the phone."

"My point is… that was your cousin, too," House reminded his friend with a knowing smirk as he stepped into the elevator, mentally congratulating himself on a successful escape.

_Ha! Not so far gone, after all. I haven't lost my touch yet… can still say no to him, even if he's…_

The thought cut off abruptly as House was pulled off balance, and his breath caught in his throat as he reached out a hand to steady himself. Recovering, he turned in indignant surprise and alarm to see Wilson gripping the other end of his cane, holding him there, and the elevator doors open – refusing to let him leave.

"Would you grab somebody's _leg_?" House demanded with more outrage than he felt – while trying to figure out why he didn't feel more outraged.

"This is important to me," Wilson stated simply in response.

The dark intensity in Wilson's ordinarily soft chocolate gaze nearly made House lose his breath again, but he managed to maintain his composure, returning the younger man's piercing gaze without hesitation. He felt his heart pounding, his breath quickening with an odd combination of alarm, excitement, and admiration, at Wilson's sudden display of assertion.

"Everything is important to you," he scoffed. "It's your pathology. It's why you've been married three times. Let go of my cane."

Wilson didn't.

Still holding onto House's cane, he informed him with a soft, sly smile, "I already had her transferred from Trenton County."

House hesitated a moment, torn between his indignation at Wilson's assumption that he would take the case, and the temptation to give in to Wilson's request, if only to spend more time with him – to have the chance to get to know this intriguingly assertive and seldom-seen side of his friend. Finally, lowering his head with a sigh of amused resignation, House reached out his hand to take the patient file from Wilson's hand – and Wilson finally released his cane.

The last thing House saw before the elevator door slid shut was Wilson's triumphant smile of smug satisfaction – and House had to wonder if he'd really lost, or won… or if some new and unfamiliar game was only beginning.

*****************************

Hours later, Wilson waited in terse, impatient silence with House's team, outside Cuddy's office. Unexpectedly adding to the tension of the "boring" Rebecca Adler whose case had proven to be anything but boring, Cuddy had pulled House's medical authorization within the hospital, in an attempt to get him to fulfill his obligations to the clinic.

Wilson had his doubts as to whether or not it would work.

_Getting House to do anything he doesn't want to do isn't exactly easy._ His lips formed a barely perceptible smile of secret satisfaction, however, at the next thought that crossed his mind. _Seems _I'm_ pretty good at it, though, apparently. _

Wilson thought back to the conversation they'd had near the elevators, and the brief flash of excitement, the light of intrigue he had seen in House's eyes, before the other man had managed to conceal it – as he always seemed to do so well. For just a fraction of a moment, Wilson thought he had seen something more than the affection of friendship in House's eyes.

_Is it possible that maybe… he's starting to see me as more than a friend? That maybe, just _maybe_… he's starting to feel… the same way I do?_

Cuddy's office door was suddenly flung open, and House came out into the hallway with a smug grin on his face.

"Do the MRI. She folded," he announced with triumph. He waited in silence while his team dispersed, before turning to Wilson, his smile fading into mild annoyance. "I've gotta do four hours a week in this clinic until I make up the time I've missed. 2054. I'll be caught up in 2054." He stared at Wilson for a moment longer, before looking away a bit self-consciously and starting to walk away, grousing over his shoulder, "You'd better love this cousin a whole lot."

Wilson didn't respond, just watched House walk away with a slowly softening smile of affection.

_Fifty years of clinic duty… yeah… I'd say maybe that's more than just a friendship is worth… _

*****************************

Wilson's thoughts were still centered around House the following evening, as he was doing a routine check on Rebecca's reactions to her treatment.

Lately, there was something – different – in the looks House cast in his direction… an added layer of meaning to the jokes and insults he dealt out to Wilson during the course of their workdays. However, since he had taken this case, House seemed to have been the same as usual, only… _more_. If House _was_ developing any feelings for him, then it seemed as if he was also trying harder than ever to maintain the image of normalcy in order to conceal them.

_And that probably makes no sense in anyone's head but mine. _

"Am I _ever_ gonna meet Dr. House?"

Rebecca's question drew Wilson out of the muddle of his swirling thoughts, and he tried to focus on her question – then let out a soft laugh. "Well, you might run into him at the movies, or on the bus…"

"Is he a good man?" Rebecca asked, her curiosity about the elusive physician clear in her eyes.

Wilson could relate.

Lately, House was an even more infuriating mystery than ever, even to him. He considered her question for a moment before adding with a sort of non-committal half-nod.

"He's a good doctor."

"Can you be one without the other?" Rebecca persisted with a puzzled frown. "Don't you have to care about people?"

"Caring's a good motivator," Wilson replied. "He's found… something else."

He continued Rebecca's tests, though he became distant again as he thought about House, and his own theories about how much the obnoxious, distant doctor really _did_ care about his patients. Wilson believed that House's gruff, cold exterior was nothing more than a wall to protect him from the potential pain that came with attachment.

Any _attachment._ He frowned as the implications occurred to him. _Which is why even if he _does _feel what I do… he'll probably never act on it…_

"He's your friend, huh?"

"Yeah," Wilson replied automatically to Rebecca's question, his tone distant and pensive.

"Does he care about you?"

"I think so," Wilson replied.

Rebecca frowned. "You don't know?"

"As Dr. House likes to say, everybody lies."

"It's not what people say," Rebecca pointed out. "It's what they do."

Wilson smiled slowly as he thought of the reasons why House had even taken Rebecca on as a patient. House had agreed to treat her, for no other reason than because Wilson wanted him to do so – despite his usual practice of rejecting anything that might prove he had a genuine connection with another human being.

Wilson nodded and met her eyes for a moment as he responded with soft surety.

"Yes. He cares about me."

********************************

The morning after Rebecca's recovery, Wilson and House sat in an empty exam room, House, enjoying his favorite soap opera – Wilson… enjoying House. Wilson sat slightly behind where House sat perched atop an exam table, stealing glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and just… wondering.

"You said she was your cousin," House stated abruptly, surprising Wilson with the realization that House's attention was not entirely focused on his show. "Why would you lie?"

Wilson shrugged. "It got you to take the case."

House was quiet for a moment, but he was not finished. "You lied to a friend to save a stranger. You don't think that's screwed up?"

Wilson let out a quiet scoffing sound. "You've never lied to me?" he countered dubiously, studying House's reaction to the not-quite-question.

House's tone was one of deliberately exaggerated innocence as he replied without hesitation, "I _never_ lie."

"Oh, really."

Wilson wasn't convinced in the slightest, and didn't pretend to be. Both men were quiet for a few moments, House smiling slightly at something amusing on the television – as Wilson came to a calm, calculated decision. He watched House closely as he rose to his feet and walked around the exam table to slowly, deliberately switch the television off – never taking his eyes off House as he did.

House looked up at him, startled. "Hey!" he protested. "Five minutes left!"

"Forget it." Wilson's tone was slightly sharp as he shrugged, uncaring about House's missing his soap. "Someone dies, someone has sex with someone else's secret love child, someone's long lost evil twin shows up – it's always the same thing."

House frowned, opening his mouth to protest Wilson's dubious explanation, but froze, tensing when Wilson smoothly closed the distance between them, moving to stand between House's parted legs, taking his slightly rocking cane from his hands and setting it quietly to the side on the exam table.

"You never lie, huh?" Wilson echoed House's earlier words, a single brow raised. "That's funny. 'Cause I'm pretty sure you're lying to me right now. Pretty sure you have been for months now, in fact."

"What are you talking about?" House sputtered, backing up as much as was possible from his seated position, a wary look in his searching blue eyes as he studied Wilson's almost predatory expression. "You're the one who just got finished manipulating _me_ with _your_ deceitful emotional blackmail, and you're trying to blame _me_ for…"

Whatever else House might have said was cut off, his voice muffled as Wilson's hands threaded gently through his hair, Wilson's mouth covering his in a thorough, searching kiss. House's eyes widened in stunned bewilderment for a moment, and he stared down at Wilson, not quite daring to respond, or even to move – before finally yielding and closing his eyes, returning the kiss as his arms slid around Wilson to draw him closer.

Wilson pulled back at last, leaving House staring at him, breathless and open-mouthed, still stunned by his sudden, impulsive advance.

"Now," Wilson whispered, his face still a bare inch away from House's, dark eyes intent and searching, locked onto House's blue gaze. "Tell me you haven't been wanting to do that for at least the last two months." Wilson's lips turned upward slightly, revealing the barest hint of a smile as he added, "Or… you can lie to me again."

House said nothing, finally closing his mouth with an effort, his lower lip caught between his teeth as his eyes trailed uncertainly back and forth between Wilson's eyes and his lips, his head drifting slowly, unconsciously nearer to Wilson's again. Wilson followed his gaze, his breath quickening, his hands finding House's waist and shifting in closer to him, his faint smile becoming a self-satisfied smirk.

"I take it you've decided that honesty is indeed the best…"

This time, it was Wilson's words that were swallowed up in House's kiss, as he surrendered his control and returned Wilson's advances, deciding that while relationships were scary and vulnerability was bad, just this once… human connection might not be all that bad.


	2. Chapter 2

"Baby. Coffins."

Wilson entered House's apartment without knocking, uttering his cryptic words in a thoughtful tone of disbelief, as if struggling uselessly to make sense of them. He shook his head slightly, frowning as he repeated again with comical seriousness.

"_Baby_... _coffins_..."

House grinned up at him from where he lay sprawled on his couch, not yet bothering to sit up and make room for his friend, recently turned lover.

"'Hi' is a more commonly accepted greeting. Also 'How are you?' and 'Look! I got you a present!'"

Wilson's mildly reproving expression faded into an amused smile, and he shook his head again as he crossed the living room to the couch. As he reached it, House sat up, swinging his legs onto the coffee table instead to make room for Wilson to sit down.

"Really, House." Wilson sat down with a heavy sigh of resignation. "Could you have possibly traumatized the poor woman a little _more_?"

"Cuddy didn't seem to think so. Apparently, it traumatized her, too," House observed with a smirk, "since she's still going on about it."

Wilson shifted closer on the sofa, his smile becoming one of teasing warning as he turned to face House, drawing his knees up under him, and placed his hands on House's shoulders, pushing him back against the sofa and holding him there as he kissed him, long and deep and thorough, pulling back at last when both were a bit breathless.

"Not the least bit sorry, are you?" Wilson mused, a darkly playful light in his eyes as he smirked down at House.

"No," House replied, his chin tilting upward slightly in subtle defiance. "She deserved it. And it worked. Baby's scheduled for vaccinations next week."

Wilson let out a low chuckle of approval, but kept his voice one of mock severity as he responded. "Apparently, you need to be taken in hand a bit, don't you?"

House returned his smirk, a single brow raised in challenge. "And you think you're the man for the job?"

"I think I am," Wilson agreed with a confident nod, swooping down for another deep, intense kiss.

House raised his hands to wrap around Wilson's waist, but Wilson's hands trailed down from House's shoulders to his wrists, raising House's hands slowly over his head and pinning them there together as he leisurely continued the kiss. House's fingers flexed in eager desire to touch, to grasp, but he offered no real resistance as Wilson brought one leg over to straddle House's hips, clearly establishing the dominant position in the encounter.

House readily yielded to the kiss, enjoying the novelty of Wilson's taking control, well aware that he could shift their positions -- and the balance of power -- in an instant if he chose to do so.

For now, House was happy just to relish the sheer pleasure of intimate contact, after years spent alone.

Their relationship was only a week old, and everything was still new and wonderful. House found that, to his pleasant surprise, having Wilson as a lover was not all that different from having him as a friend. It was mostly the same... with certain added benefits, of course.

For the time being, they had decided to keep the recent change in their relationship to themselves, neither of them willing to deal with the tumult of rumors and controversy that would accompany their revelation as an official couple. Eventually, the secret would come out, House knew, as secrets always did -- and when it did, he knew that he would discover the depth of Wilson's loyalty.

It wouldn't matter to _House_. No, he had never been one to care too much about the opinions of those around them, and saw his choice of lover as no one's business but his own. He would be proud to have it publicly known that Wilson was his… that he wanted and chose to be with him.

It was almost frightening to House, how swiftly friendship mingled with attraction was shifting into something far deeper and more intense -- for him, anyway.

Wilson, on the other hand... might not feel the same way about it.

That idea was slightly unsettling to House... wondering how Wilson would react to others knowing about their relationship... wondering if Wilson would be embarrassed, if their relationship would survive the strain of the strain on Wilson's reputation.

But House didn't choose to think of that right now.

Right now, he just wanted to enjoy Wilson's touch, his kiss, his expert hands roaming with slow, tantalizing precision over every inch of House's body.

"What's the matter?" Wilson murmured against House's lips, drawing back slightly with a frown of concern as he sensed his tension and hesitation. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," House insisted, his voice a low, urgent mutter as he lowered his hands from where Wilson had positioned them above his head and pulled Wilson closer to him. "Nothing... just… keep going... just... don't stop..."

Wilson yielded, allowing House to push him backward onto his back on the sofa and reverse their positions, wrapping one arm around the back of House's neck and holding him close, drinking in his kiss as a man dying of thirst, his free hand trailing up under House's shirt, cool fingers sliding slowly upward, teasing against his heated skin.

When House's phone rang, Wilson reluctantly stopped, withdrawing his hand with a sigh as he glanced toward the offending device.

"Don't stop," House ground out in irritation, reaching down to grasp Wilson's hand and replace it where it had been, even as the phone rang again. "I have no intention of answering that."

"But what if it's important?"

"They'll leave a message," House muttered, his teeth catching Wilson's lower lip and forcibly dragging him into another kiss to silence his protest.

"Hi, um… Dr. House… this is Dr. Foreman… Our patient is… um… well, he's missing. We… can't find him. It's… really important that you get down here immediately. It's… absolutely necessary. We need you here, right away. Okay, um… bye."

His heart already sinking with resignation, House continued kissing Wilson, hands urgently roving over his body in an attempt to keep him focused on the matter at hand – but Wilson caught House's hands, stilling them and pushing him back a little to meet his eyes.

"That… sounded important."

*****************************

By morning House's patient had been found and returned to his room, safe and sound, and he was unfortunately free to treat more idiots in the clinic while his team handled tests and treatment on his steadily declining patient. One such patient, however, was at least interesting enough to share the story with Wilson as they made their way down the hallway together later that day – not touching, keeping up the act of mere friendship for their colleagues around them.

"You actually treated him?" Wilson was incredulous.

House shrugged. "All I know is that he sued some doctors. Who am I to assume that they didn't have it coming to them…" As he spoke, House noticed Cuddy coming toward them down the stairs, and quickly shifted the conversation in a different direction. "… the _cutest_ little tennis outfit. My God, I thought I was going to have a heart attack." Feigning surprise, he looked at Cuddy, eyes widening in mock chagrin. "Oh my, I didn't see you there. That is _so_ embarrassing."

Cuddy smirked, unfazed. "How's your hooker doing?"

Wilson glanced at House, a single brow raised in suspicion.

House didn't notice, his attention focused on Cuddy for the moment. "Oh, sweet of you to ask. Funny story. She was going to be a hospital administrator, but hated having to screw people like that."

Cuddy was still smiling as she deftly turned the conversation to House's patient, and the bet that was quickly spreading among the hospital staff – but Wilson was no longer smiling. He tried to suppress his irritation and suspicion as House continued his flirtatious banter with Cuddy, but became gradually more impatient, until finally, Cuddy turned and made her way back toward her own office. House turned back to Wilson with a smug grin… which immediately faded when he saw the dark expression on Wilson's face.

"What was that all about?" Wilson demanded.

House frowned, confused and immediately a bit defensive. "What was what all about? It's _Cuddy_. What's she there for, if not to be mocked and sexually degraded?"

"Seriously, House," Wilson snapped, not amused. "What was she talking about? What hooker?"

"It was a _joke_," House replied, incredulous at Wilson's sudden anger. "There _is_ no hooker. It was just… something I said to Cuddy last night…"

Wilson didn't argue, but his expression was still dubious, his brow creased in a suspicious frown.

House's lips twisted into a merciless smirk, as he continued in a teasing voice, "Yeah, Wilson. After coming down here to try to locate my missing patient, I took time out to call up a hooker to meet me in my office. Then in the three extra minutes I had before getting back to you about _thirty minutes_ after I left you… I bent her over my desk and had hot monkey sex with her. No, it didn't last long, but that three minutes was the _best_…"

House's voice trailed off, his mouth falling open in bewilderment, as Wilson's expression darkened, but instead of saying anything, he just turned without a word and stalked away. House stood still for a moment, dumbfounded, wondering at what had just happened, before hurriedly following after him, trying to catch up, though well aware that he could only if Wilson chose to let him.

And Wilson was apparently in no mood to let him.

When he reached Wilson's office, Wilson was already seated behind his desk, glaring down at whatever file he was pretending to read, and pointedly ignoring House's entrance, even as his office door banged loudly against the wall behind it.

"Wilson… what the _hell_?" House demanded. "It was just a _joke_!"

"Fine."

House blinked, caught off guard by Wilson's quiet, terse reply. "_Fine_?" he echoed in disbelief.

"Fine," Wilson repeated. "Okay. Fine."

After a moment, he let out a heavy sigh, the dark, jealous anger in his eyes fading somewhat, mingling with a defeated sense of regret. Still, his motions were sharp, impatient, irritated, as he restlessly shifted papers on his desk, looking anywhere but directly at House.

"Yeah," House drawled after a moment. "That's convincing. If you don't believe me, just say you don't…"

"I believe you," Wilson finally relented, lowering his head to rest in his hand. "Okay? I just… I don't like to think about… about you being with someone else, all right?"

"Well, that works out nicely," House pointed out, a bit sharply, "considering that I _haven't_ been with anyone else."

"Lately," Wilson amended with a sigh, rising from his seat and coming around his desk to face House directly. "But… you _have_ seen hookers before. I know that. And… I guess I just… jumped to conclusions…"

"Not since we've been together," House stated, his voice low and tinged with hurt. "I haven't hired a hooker since we've been together – and I _wouldn't_." He raised his eyes to Wilson's, holding his gaze with a level, solemn look of subtle accusation. "I've done a lot of things… but I've never cheated on anyone."

Wilson was quiet, thoughtful, as he nodded slowly, accepting House's words. "Good to know," he remarked softly, pausing a moment before admitting, "I have."

That was no surprise to House, who'd heard the details of Wilson's affairs and how they'd come about during the course of their friendship. Still, the impact of the words was sobering to him. He lowered his eyes, considering, as Wilson slowly crossed the room to stand closer to him, reaching out a hand to gently rest on House's arm, silently urging him nearer.

"I'm sorry, I… I guess… we just… tend to see things in other people that we know are in ourselves," Wilson sighed. "I've done it, so… so naturally, I assumed…" He shook his head, lowering his eyes in regret. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

House didn't look up at him for a long moment, but didn't move away, either, allowing Wilson's hand to rest on his arm, but not moving to return the affectionate gesture. Finally, House raised his eyes to search Wilson's face, uncharacteristic uncertainty and vulnerability clear in his expression.

"Is this… a joke?"

Wilson's brow creased in a puzzled frown, and he shook his head to indicate his confusion. "Is… is what…?"

"Why… why would you want this?" House clarified, then added, his voice lower, barely audible, "Why would you want _me_?"

Wilson's eyes widened in stunned understanding – then softened with regretful sympathy. "House… how can you even think…"

"I'm not… attractive. Not as… athletic, or well-built as I used to be. I'm not even a nice person to be around," House continued, shaking his head slowly in quiet bewilderment. "Why would you even _care_ if I hired a hooker, when you can have anyone you want? Why would you want to be with _me_, of all people? Why would you want to be with me _at all_?"

"Why would I want to be with _you_?" Wilson echoed in disbelief, edging even nearer to House, his hands resting under House's elbows and drawing him reluctantly closer. Wilson's voice softened with awed affection as he continued with a light, ironic laugh, "Why would I want to be with the one person I've idolized for the last _ten years_?"

House let out a quiet scoffing sound, shaking his head, not able to meet Wilson's eyes. "I'm not…"

"Shush," Wilson softly admonished, raising a finger to House's lips, then replacing that finger with his mouth, his lips and tongue gently probing past the half-hearted resistance of House's lips, before drawing slowly back to meet his eyes. "You're _perfect_," he stated with firm conviction. "And I want _you_, House… just as you are."

When Wilson kissed him again, House returned his kiss with a sort of awe, wondering what madness would have caused the man _he_ had secretly wished to be more like for years to place _him_ on such a pedestal – and what accidental accomplishment amongst his life's many mistakes made him deserving of Wilson's devotion.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why do you want me to treat this guy?"

House quickened his pace as he made his way down the hall toward the elevator, once again simply enjoying stringing Wilson along and making him work for it, while he already had decided that he was going to accept the patient Wilson was recommending.

"Blood pressure's not responding to IV fluids," Wilson replied, glancing down at the patient's chart in his hands.

"No, no... I didn't ask how you plan to con me into treating him. I asked you why _you_ want me to treat him," House clarified as they turned the corner and the elevator came into view.

Wilson shrugged with a sheepish, self-deprecating laugh. "He's sick, I care, I'm pathetic..."

"There are about a billion sick people on the planet. Why this one?" House pressed. Despite the fact that his decision had already been made, he was still curious as to Wilson's motives.

Then again, lately he was curious about _everything_ when it came to Wilson.

"Because this one's in our emergency room?" Wilson offered unconvincingly.

With a knowing smirk, House replied, "Ah, so it's a proximity issue. If somebody was sick in the third floor stairwell, that's who we would be talking about."

"Yes, I checked the stairwell. It's clear."

House's smirk became a full-fledged grin that he couldn't suppress at Wilson's good-natured sarcasm. His defenses were lost, defeated by Wilson's humor and persistence – at least, those things made good excuses for why House was willing to give in to him so quickly.

"Okay, then," he conceded as he stepped into the elevator. "Emergency room guy it is."

Wilson's expression went from mild amusement, to an elated grin, to a suspicious frown, all in the space of less than a second. "Wait... how was that so easy?"

With an evasive half-shrug, House rolled his eyes toward the ceiling before reluctantly meeting Wilson's gaze. "You know why," he replied softly.

There was a brief flash of understanding and desire in Wilson's eyes, as his expression softened into a smile. "Blood pressure's not responding to IV fluids?" he suggested.

"Yeah," House confirmed, gratefully latching onto the offered explanation for his unusually easy acquiescence. "That's just weird."

The elevator doors began to close, and House breathed a sigh of relief at the knowledge that he was escaping the uncomfortable scrutiny of Wilson's too-perceptive attention. Just before they closed, however, a hand reached between them, and they slid open again. Wilson stepped into the elevator, standing beside House and giving him a sideways smirk as he waited patiently for the doors to close again.

The moment they did, Wilson's cool professionalism vanished, as he caught House by the arm, pushing him back against the wall and covering his mouth in a hurried, ravenous kiss. House allowed his cane to drop to the floor with a loud clattering sound, raising his hands to grasp Wilson's arms as he eagerly returned Wilson's kiss.

Wilson drew back, eyes narrowed in playful skepticism. "What's the _real_ reason?" he demanded quietly.

House's gaze dropped self-consciously for a moment, and when he looked up into Wilson's eyes again, his brow was creased slightly in uncertainty. There was an unusually vulnerable, almost shy tone in his low voice as he repeated his simple, meaningful words.

"You _know_ why."

Wilson's eyes lit up with pleasure at House's words, and he leaned in to kiss him again, slowly and tenderly this time, drawing back to gaze up at him through warm, dark eyes sparkling with affection.

"Thank you," he whispered, as he finally pulled away completely.

As the tiny electronic chime announced their arrival, Wilson reached down to retrieve House's cane, placing it carefully in his hand before returning to his original position beside him, just as the elevator doors slid open to reveal what appeared to be absolutely nothing out of the ordinary going on inside.

"See you later," Wilson said with flawless ease, utterly casual as he made his way down the hall toward his office.

House watched him go for a few moments, unmasked adoration in his eyes for just a moment, before he concealed it, turning and walking in the other direction, toward his own office and his waiting team.

*****************************

"You're half an hour late."

House was unperturbed by Cuddy's sharp, disapproving tone as he reluctantly entered the clinic, Wilson at his side. Wilson had managed to change his clinic shift to match House's, and if all went as planned, House was looking forward to a stolen, secret rendezvous in an empty exam room at some point during the next two hours he had to serve.

"Busy case load." House carelessly shrugged.

"One case is not a 'load'," Cuddy informed him, one eyebrow raised dubiously.

Wilson lingered beside the counter as House signed his name in, then took his time signing his own name as House turned back toward Cuddy, taking the opportunity to bait her again.

"So, how are we doing on cotton swabs today? If there's an acute shortage, I could run home..."

"No, you couldn't," Cuddy cut him off with a pointed glance toward his damaged leg.

"Nice," House muttered as he quickly turned away from her toward the waiting room full of patients.

The flash of embarrassment and hurt that had crossed his face was so instantaneous that Cuddy did not notice it -- but Wilson did. Though House was expert by now at concealing his emotions, Wilson knew that Cuddy's careless words had stung.

"Hello, sick people and their loved ones..."

House began to address the group of waiting patients, and Cuddy frowned as she looked toward him suspiciously. However, before she could focus on what House was saying, Wilson caught her arm and pulled her back around to face him, an expression of barely veiled fury on his face.

Cuddy raised an eyebrow as she glanced pointedly down at his hand on her arm, then met his gaze with dubious curiosity as Wilson reluctantly dropped his hand from her arm. Despite his silent acknowledgment of the inappropriateness of his actions, however, Wilson's dark eyes were smoldering with anger as he spoke in a quiet, unyielding voice.

"That was _way_ out of line."

"_Excuse_ me?" Cuddy's tone was incredulous.

"You know comments like that are grounds for a lawsuit, right?" Wilson informed her sharply, a cold smile beginning around the edges of his mouth. When Cuddy didn't respond, apparently too stunned to speak, he demanded calmly, "What makes you think it's in any way acceptable to make belittling, degrading comments to a disabled hospital employee – _about_ his disability?"

Cuddy just stared at Wilson in incredulous disbelief for a long, tense moment.

Finally, she replied, "You _do_ realize this is _House_ we're talking about, right? You actually think that _he'd_ have grounds to sue _me_ for harassment -- after his nearly daily comments about my body, my clothes..." Cuddy shook her head with a short, dismissive laugh. "I'm sorry, but I think the countersuit would make it not worth his time or money -- and that's assuming he cared enough to file a lawsuit, anyway..."

"He cares," Wilson sharply informed her, dark eyes piercing and intent on hers. "You have no idea how much damage..."

"No, and excuse me if at the moment I don't really care," she cut him off impatiently. "I have an entire hospital to run. I could fire him for his inappropriate sexual comments, inexcusable rudeness with patients and staff, and outrageous disregard for policy -- or I can fight fire with fire and give back as good as he gives to me. I choose Option B."

Cuddy turned dismissively away from Wilson, focusing with irritation on House as she realized that he was still speaking to the waiting room, and wondered with visible dread what exactly it was that he was saying.

"... not to worry, because for most of you this job could be done by a monkey with a bottle of... of Motrin..." House's voice faltered slightly as he glanced over his shoulder with a frown, momentarily distracted by the confrontation taking place behind him, before turning to continue his monologue. "... no, I do not have a pain management problem, I have a _pain_ problem. But who knows? Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm too stoned to tell. So, who wants me?"

Frustrated and outraged by House's tactics at escaping his duty, Cuddy stepped into the waiting room as House made his way toward Exam Room 1, holding up the chart on the top of the stack at the nurse's station.

"Jodi Matthews? Please accompany Dr. House to Exam Room 1."

***************************

"Hey, Cuddy said you needed a consult. What's up? I'm busy."

Wilson frowned as he stepped into the exam room, somewhat surprised to see an actual patient seated on the examining table. He had half-expected that the request for a consult was merely a ploy by House to get him alone in an exam room for a bit of privacy, and was actually disappointed to find that was apparently not the case.

House frowned as he looked up at him, and the fact that House looked disappointed to see him started a tightening sensation of hurt and irritation in Wilson's chest.

"Crap," House muttered. "She wins."

Wilson's frown deepened with confusion. "What do you mean she..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head, at a loss.

"Cuddy," House clarified, unnecessarily. "I've been calling her in for consults on all my clinic patients for the last two days. Guess she got smart and found a way around doing _her_ job, too."

House turned his attention to the patient sitting on the exam table, rudely wresting his game boy from her hands as he announced, "You ran six miles. That's why your legs hurt. Take a couple of ibuprofen, and a break from the running until the inflammation in your muscles go down, and this…" He handed her the chart. "…to the nurse on your way out."

The woman gave him an odd, uncertain look as she took the chart from his hand, muttering in irritation under her breath as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

"So... the last two days... you've spent all this time and energy, just to torment Cuddy?" Wilson shook his head in confused agitation as he stepped further into the room, taking House's game boy from his hands and laying it down on the exam table, waiting until House looked up at him expectantly to continue. "It's completely pointless for me to attempt to stand up for your rights, when you just go behind me and do everything in your power to provoke her. You know it's not _actually_ going to get you out of clinic duty, right?"

House shrugged. Apparently victory was not necessarily the point of this particular battle.

Wilson's tone was calm and thoughtful, but tinged with a barely perceptible note of suspicion and uncertainty as his eyes narrowed and he asked, "What's with you and her, anyway?"

House was very good at picking up on what was barely perceptible.

A slow grin began to spread across his face, a knowing light dancing in his blue eyes, as he rose to his feet and pointed a finger in Wilson's direction. "I know what this is. You're jealous. You think I have a thing for Cuddy."

"No, that's ridiculous," Wilson cut him off, his face flushing with embarrassed irritation as he turned slightly away from House -- then turned back again, head tilted skeptically.

"_Do_ you?"

"You're kidding, right?" House raised a single eyebrow in Wilson's direction, eyes widening incredulously.

Wilson shrugged. "Well, the only people who can get to you..."

House rolled his eyes with a weary sigh as he interrupted, anticipating Wilson's argument. "No, there is _not_ a thin line between love and hate. There is, in fact, a Great Wall of China with armed sentries posted every twenty feet between love and hate." He paused, meeting Wilson's eyes with a momentary intensity of sincerity as he stated, "I do _not_ have a thing for Cuddy."

Wilson studied his expression for a long moment, and House knew that he wasn't entirely convinced. Finally, however, the dark suspicion seemed to fade into the background, and a small, reluctant smile began on Wilson's lips, as he edged nearer to House, taking hold of the lapels of his jacket and pulling him in close.

"You'd better not," he murmured, only half-teasing, punctuating the words with a series of brief, soft kisses. "You're _mine_... and you shouldn't need... _her _attention..." Wilson pushed House back against the wall behind the chair, gently possessive hands trailing slowly down House's body as his low voice laid emphatic claim to what he considered to be his. "... not when you've got... every last bit... of mine..."

House's breath caught in his throat as Wilson's hand trailed down to firmly cup the swelling bulge in the front of his jeans, moving in a slow, circular motion that only served to heighten House's desire.

"I don't," he whispered breathlessly. "I don't... need her... just... just you..."

"That's right," Wilson whispered back against House's lips, before slowly withdrawing. He held his gaze with an intensity that made House's eyes widen, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat. "And don't you forget it."

**************************

It was nearly six o'clock when Cuddy finished her daily tasks, packing what work she had not managed to accomplish during the day into her briefcase and heading toward her office door. Distracted, she jumped slightly, startled, when she found herself face-to-face with Wilson, dressed in his coat and scarf, carrying his own briefcase, just inside the doorway.

"My God," she gasped. "You scared me." Her tensed shoulders relaxing as the momentary flare of fear faded away, she shook her head slightly. "What... what can I do for you...?"

"You can leave House alone."

Cuddy blinked, momentarily thrown by the blunt words, as well as the warning tone of Wilson's voice. "I'm... I'm sorry?"

"Things have been going too far lately between the two of you," Wilson clarified in a quiet, even voice, a disarmingly calm expression on his face. "And you know he's not one to back down -- so that means _you_ might have to."

Cuddy frowned, indignant. "I'm not going to let him do whatever he wants just to appease _you_. And you are, by the way, way out of line..."

"I'm not saying for you to give him whatever he wants." Wilson shook his head. "I'm saying that the little mind games... the flirtatious little exchanges that go _both_ ways, if you think I haven't noticed... need to stop."

Cuddy's frown deepened with confusion, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Wilson was already speaking again.

"You know, a lawsuit made by an employer against her employee, over comments and such that have _supposedly_ gone on for years, without her saying a word or taking any disciplinary actions against that employee..." Wilson shook his head, the barest hint of a smirk playing about his lips as he looked away briefly, before meeting her eyes again. "I can't imagine such a lawsuit being taken seriously."

He paused, allowing the words to sink in, before continuing in a soft, serious voice.

"A lawsuit by a disabled employee against his employer who consistently flirts with him and deliberately taunts him about his disability – in front of witnesses, I might add – that might be taken a little more seriously." His smile faded as he added, "House might not have the self-respect it takes to look out for his own interests. Good thing for him... _I do_."

He was quiet for a moment, taking a backward step toward her door and opening it for her in a gracious, gentlemanly gesture.

"I'm just saying," he concluded with an innocent, disarming smile. "You should be cautious."

Without another word, Wilson turned and walked toward the hospital exit with a casual, confident stride that in no way betrayed the subtly threatening manner in which he had just spoken to her.

The whole thing was so surreal, so utterly unexpected, that as she made her way to the car, Cuddy found herself wondering if it had really occurred as she thought it had, or if perhaps she had imagined the hints of dark menace she thought she'd heard in Wilson's voice and seen in his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

"Baby girl Hartig. Term baby, forty-two hours old. Went into seizures six hours ago, brought into the intensive care, diagnosed the obstruction in the small bowel."

Wilson stared back at House's expectant look, unsure what exactly was supposed to catch his attention from House's description -- especially when the only thing really catching his attention at the moment was House himself.

Wilson managed to bring an affectionate smirk to his lips. "I'm still amazed you're in the same room with a patient."

House shrugged. "People don't bug me until they get teeth."

Wilson was only half-listening as House described the second toothless patient that had managed to gain his attention that day, bored and distracted and only partially taking in the point House was getting at.

Finally, House just spelled it out for him.

"We have an infection spreading in the hospital."

Wilson stared at him in disbelief. "These kids have totally unrelated illnesses."

House continued his argument, explaining to Wilson why the seemingly unrelated illnesses of the two babies were in fact related, and that PPTH was facing a potentially serious epidemic in their neonatal unit.

To Wilson, it didn't seem to make sense.

To Wilson, it sounded like nothing more than an excuse to visit Cuddy.

Again.

"House... this is nothing. You're getting all worked up over _nothing_," he insisted, a bit impatiently. "Maybe you're... bored, or... well, pretty much 'bored' is all I've got for why you're inventing epidemics to pass the time." Wilson let out a rueful laugh, shaking his head in rather terse amusement.

"This is serious, Wilson," House insisted. "And it could get a lot more serious, if we don't do something to stop it now."

"House..."

"Later," House cut him off, abruptly losing patience with Wilson's attempts to change his mind. "I've got a hospital administrator to freak out."

"House... wait..."

Wilson protested, turning toward House as he limped quickly away in the direction of Cuddy's office. Wilson's voice trailed off in frustrated defeat, and he simply watched his lover disappear down the hall, something dark and suspicious and unpleasant boiling up within him as he considered House's possible motivations.

_He just wants an excuse to talk to her... just wants a reason to continue this disgusting game they've been playing lately... that's all this is. She's tempting him, teasing him, laying out the bait... and he's playing right into her hands..._

Wilson's footsteps were hard and angry as he stalked back down the hall in the opposite direction from the one House had gone, toward his own office.

_Well, it's _not_ going to work. She's not going to get her claws into him. I'm going to make sure she doesn't get the chance._

****************************

"And you're the only one who put this together because...?"

"Because I'm the only one who looked at both kids. I want them isolated. I want the maternity ward shut down."

House made his bold declaration with an almost defiant air, silently daring her to contradict his conclusions. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to have much trouble meeting that dare. House watched in irritation as Cuddy bustled about behind her desk, nervously gathering papers and other supplies as she hurriedly prepared to leave her office -- all without paying very much attention at all to his rather serious concerns.

Cuddy offered a distracted, token argument while making her way toward the door, pausing long enough to give House her own theory on why he was "inventing" an epidemic to alleviate his own boredom – which was annoyingly similar to Wilson's theory.

"See, this is why I don't waste money on shrinks," House retorted, irritated that both Cuddy and Wilson seemed to think they knew him so well, and that neither of them was taking this very serious situation seriously. "'Cause you give me all these really great insights for free."

"Shrink," Cuddy echoed with a nearly silent laugh, shaking her head. "If you would consider going to a shrink, I would pay for it myself. The hospital would hold a bake sale, for God's sake." She paused, her expression darkening as she pushed the door open and added under her breath, "Maybe I could get a two-for-one deal, if the two patients' mental issues are closely related..."

"What?" House frowned, shaking his head slightly to indicate that she had lost him.

"Nothing," Cuddy sighed. "Never mind."

House frowned, turning to watch her go, wondering about her cryptic remarks, the lack of her usual playful banter, and why she had seemed to be in such a hurry to get away from him all of a sudden. Shaking his head, dismissing those relatively trivial concerns, House made his way back toward the pediatric ward in search of additional cases to prove his theory.

He had more important concerns at the moment than Cuddy and her strangely shifting moods.

***************************

It didn't take House long to prove his theory, and within the next hour, Cuddy, Wilson, and the rest of the hospital was engaged in the desperate search for the source of the epidemic he had predicted.

Cuddy spent a good deal of time close to House and his team, trying to help with the diagnostic effort -- and naturally, Wilson did the same. He stayed close to House's side most of the day, offering advice and suggestions, trying to help find the elusive answer -- and trying to keep Cuddy from finding the chance to be alone with House, as well.

Wilson felt a perverse sense of relief in the knowledge that House's concerns had been genuine, and not merely a ploy to spend time with Cuddy again -- followed by a sense of guilt for that relief.

After all, six babies were _dying_.

And for all House's general lack of affection for the rest of humanity -- that knowledge seemed to be pressing down on him hardest of all. During the course of the day, Wilson noticed with concern that House seemed to grow gradually more tense, weary and agitated, as each attempt at finding the diagnosis ended in yet another frustrating failure.

When the search turned in the direction of an ethically unclear decision which was almost sure to result in the certain death of one of the infants, Wilson was alarmed to notice that House's limp became more pronounced, and there was a heavy weariness around his eyes, as he refused to rest for a moment, doing everything in his power to find the solution before the other babies met the same fate.

Wilson was as supportive as he could be, staying close to House's side and offering him whatever encouragement and comfort he could -- and House seemed genuinely grateful for his presence. Wilson was pleased that House seemed to want him around, and it eased some of the uncertain, jealous feelings that had motivated his actions in the first place -- but not all of them.

Every time Cuddy made her way into House's office, Wilson couldn't help but notice her every move, watching closely for any signs of the flirtations that seemed to characterize every communication between Cuddy and House lately.

Fortunately, they had little time for such frivolity.

And then, despite their best efforts -- baby boy Hausen died.

Again, trying his best to make things easier on his stressed, exhausted lover, Wilson accompanied Cameron to break the news to the family -- and ended up doing her job for her and telling them himself, when she couldn't find the words to do so.

Unfortunately -- House did not appreciate the extra effort.

"I asked you to make sure she does her job, not do it for her."

Irritated by House's ingratitude, but suppressing it for the moment, reminding himself of the immense pressure he was under, Wilson explained, "She froze up..."

"She felt sorry for the patients so she shut up. You felt sorry for her so you opened your mouth."

"She has a problem," Wilson insisted, though Cameron's problem was the least of his concerns, and utterly unrelated to his reasons for taking up the slack she'd left and informing the family for her.

He simply had not wanted the burden to come back onto House's over-worked shoulders.

"Yeah, and she needs to deal with it," House snapped at him irritably as they reached his office. "If you hadn't bailed her out, she would have done it."

"Great, then she wouldn't have slept for two weeks. Maybe she should think about a different specialty. Lab work, research?"

Wilson was still attempting to be diplomatic, to shift the conversation in a direction that was less likely to result in House's continued irritation -- and Wilson's increasing desire to hit him out of frustration with his ungratefulness and irrational irritation.

_Calm down,_ he told himself. _He's under a lot of stress... got a lot to worry about... can't expect him to think much about your feelings now... not when he doesn't even usually think much about them during the best of circumstances..._

"Yeah," House sneered, still clearly agitated. "Or, she could focus on getting halfway decent at the specialty she's already chosen. Unless every bleeding-heart, well-meaning do-gooder she crosses paths with insists on coddling her and making sure she stays a useless waste of a position on my team."

Wilson's good intentions to remain patient vanished into frustration, as he stopped, turning toward House with a resentful glare.

"Look," he snapped. "I was _trying_ to help you. The least you could do is show a little appreciation..."

"For what?" House shot back with a derisive laugh. "For subverting my authority with my team? For ruining my attempt to make her better at her job? Yeah," he sneered with a soft huff of mockery. "Thanks."

Wilson felt that tense, angry resentment that had been settled in his chest all day, fed by his jealousy over Cuddy's constant nearness, boiling up into a slow-burning fury. His fists balled at his sides, his eyes narrowed, jaw clenched in anger, as he followed House into his office, opening his mouth to respond.

Before he could, Chase hurried into the room, the urgency of his purpose clear on his face.

Without noticing the change in Wilson's demeanor, House directed his attention toward Chase, asking impatiently, "Yeah, what is it?"

The revelation that the other baby was getting sicker as well sort of took the steam out of Wilson's rising rage, and he repressed it with an effort, dutifully trying to focus on helping House again, before the other five sick babies joined the little Hausen boy.

****************************

By the end of the day, as usual, they had found the solution, and managed to save the lives of the endangered children -- but at a great cost mentally and emotionally. House was exhausted and drained, aching from head to toe, as he walked slowly from his office into the conference room to find Cameron, seated and working at his desk.

His voice was weary and flat as he asked softly, "They all gone?"

Cameron nodded. "The Hartigs are checking out right now."

House glanced at Cameron with a sort of distant scrutiny. "You look tired," he observed.

"Thanks."

"It's no wonder. You've had a hard time the last couple of days."

Cameron looked up at him, concern subduing the sarcasm in her expression. "And you haven't?" she pointed out.

"Not like you," House countered, watching as she rose to her feet and retrieved her jacket from the coat rack. "Anyone who's that awkward either has no experience around death, or too much... and I'm pretty sure it's not the former. Chase told me about that idea you had: the parents holding the baby. Where'd you get that?"

Cameron did not reply as she made her way toward the door, apparently determined to shut out his increasingly invasive questions.

"Did you lose someone?" House persisted thoughtfully. "Did you lose a baby?"

Cameron froze in the doorway, finally turning to cast a look of quiet disgust and anger over her shoulder in his direction. "You can be a real bastard," she stated as she walked out the door.

The quiet words stung more than House liked to admit.

House lowered his gaze in weary, defeated resignation as Wilson stepped out of his office, where he had been waiting, and into the conference room, placing a supportive hand on House's shoulder.

A sad smile formed on House's lips as he stared at the place where Cameron had been.

"Funny thing is," he remarked softly. "I wasn't actually trying to be that time. I was... trying to be... concerned."

Wilson was quiet for a moment, considering. Finally, he spoke in a quiet, cautious tone. "Medically, House... your instincts are right on. Ninety-nine percent of the time. You saw this thing coming, before any of us were willing to even consider it -- and based on the timeline as it played out, you probably saved all of those babies' lives just by insisting that we see it as well, before it was too late to help them – not to mention the diagnosis itself."

Uncomfortable with his praise, House kept his gaze downcast, not responding, simply quietly taking in Wilson's words.

"Emotionally, though," Wilson continued with a soft sigh. "House... that's one area where you should _listen_ to me. It's... not exactly your strong suit."

"Well, that works out well," House replied with a careless shrug that was not at all convincing. "Since those things don't really matter to me, anyway. You need that to be _your_ strong suit. All _your _patients are dying, anyway. The least you can do is be their temporary therapist while you _watch_ them die."

The slight tremor Wilson heard in House's voice -- the exhaustion around his sad, expressive eyes and the rare vulnerability he exuded -- took the sting from House's words, and all Wilson felt, at last, was sympathy and compassion.

Slowly, he walked around to face House, taking House's hand gently in his own and waiting patiently until House reluctantly met his eyes. Ignoring House's attempted jabs, Wilson gave him a soft, affectionate smile, raising a hand to rest at the back of his neck, tugging him slowly, insistently closer.

"Yeah," Wilson observed gently, a knowing expression in his warm, dark eyes. "I can see how very much you _don't_ care, House. You've made that perfectly clear all day today."

House lowered his gaze, not bothering to argue with Wilson's astute observation, yet unwilling to face the intimate knowledge in Wilson's eyes. Refusing to let him escape so easily, Wilson pulled House close and kissed him, his tongue edging insistently past House's parted lips, enticing him into a deep, lingering kiss that swiftly became a release for the desperation and need House had been warring with all day.

When they finally separated, gasping for breath, House was leaning unconsciously closer to Wilson, his eyes closed, but the desperate ache of his need for comfort and reassurance etched in the tired lines of his face.

"You don't have to keep up the act for me, House," Wilson whispered, his breath warm and sweet against House's skin. "There's no point. I see right through it. _Let me_ see through it. I can be... _exactly _what you need..."

House did not respond to Wilson's breathless words, his eyes still closed, his breath quickening with desire. Wilson's hand massaged slowly at the back of House's neck, slowly and insistently kneading the tension from the taut muscles, as Wilson's free hand slid around House's waist, pulling him close to him and holding him in an embrace that was comforting, affectionate, and yet subtly possessive.

"Let me," Wilson urged him in an intent whisper, his fingertips caressing through the short hairs at the back of House's neck as his lips brushed tenderly against House's jaw. "_Let me_..."

Slowly, as if no longer possessing the strength or will to hold it up, House allowed his head to drop forward and rest on Wilson's shoulder, his trembling hands rising to return Wilson's embrace -- and Wilson just stood there, holding him, whispering silent comfort with soft fingertips and gentle breaths of kisses on his skin.


	5. Chapter 5

"We are condemned to useless labor."

Wilson looked up from the chart in which he was writing at House's bored, morose tone, suppressing a smirk as he watched House fidgeting with the Christmas candy he'd liberated from the bowl on the counter. Looking back down at his work, Wilson responded to House's grim assessment, acknowledging the literary reference he had used.

"Fourth circle of hell. Charting goes a lot faster when you eliminate the whole of classic poetry."

House responded by flicking one of the candies in Wilson's general direction -- and missing his target miserably. "Writing down what we already know to be read by nobody," he sighed. "Pretty sure Dante would agree that qualifies as useless."

"You're over two weeks behind on your charting," Wilson reminded him in a voice of stern but gentle reproof.

He glanced up as House prepared to flick another piece of candy, preparing himself to dodge it if necessary -- but this most recent missile was not aimed in his direction at all. Wilson turned just in time to watch the candy bounce harmlessly off the side of Cuddy's breast -- shamelessly exposed in a black top with a low, lace-trimmed v-neck -- instead of going down the front of her blouse as House had clearly intended.

"Oops," House stated unnecessarily. "I missed."

Cuddy cast a nervous glance in Wilson's direction before rolling her eyes at House's behavior. "What are you, eight?" she asked him in a voice of bored irritation that was just a bit more tense and irritated than usual.

"Could an eight-year-old do this?" House pointed out before making a truly hideous and ridiculous face. He was, apparently, utterly oblivious to the tension between her and Wilson.

Once again, despite his irritation at Cuddy's presence, Wilson couldn't quite suppress his smile at House's playful behavior. The smile faded, however, as he glanced up through lowered eyes, casting a look of subtle suspicion back and forth between House and Cuddy.

Lately, it seemed that she was always around when Wilson least wanted her to be, despite his warning to her weeks earlier.

Or perhaps -- _because_ of it.

"You better stop or it'll stick that way," Cuddy advised House flatly. "You have a patient in Exam Room One."

House's face twisted into a grimace of distaste. "Yeah, but see... see, I'm off at twelve, and it's already five of."

Cuddy raised a skeptical eyebrow in his direction, her orders clearly unchanged by his weak excuse. "She's been waiting for you since eleven."

With another uncertain glance in Wilson's direction, Cuddy laid the chart down on the counter in front of House and walked off down the hall toward her own office. House watched her go with open appreciation in his eyes, ignoring Wilson's pointed stare.

"Melancholy without hope. Which circle is that?" House asked without looking at Wilson as he rose with a weary sigh and took the chart. Wilson did not reply, and House headed resignedly toward Exam Room One.

Wilson watched him go, his gaze darkening with rising anger as the infuriating scene played over in his mind again.

It was difficult to tell how his warning had affected Cuddy's behavior in the last few weeks. She seemed to act more or less the same, if her flirtations were a bit toned down -- at least in Wilson's presence. However, he had no way of knowing for sure how she behaved around House when he was _not _around.

House, on the other hand, had continued in much the same way as he had always done, despite their conversation about Wilson's jealousy -- or, again, Wilson considered... perhaps _because_ of it. At times – like tonight – it almost appeared as if House was _trying_ to rile him, to goad him into a reaction, with the blatantly suggestive, flirtatious looks and comments he aimed at Cuddy.

Maybe House _wanted_ him to be jealous. Maybe he _enjoyed_ knowing that he had that much power over Wilson, enough to cause him to sit here and brood and obsess and grow steadily more infuriated, when he was supposed to be working on his charting for the end of the year.

Wilson let out a sigh as he tried to focus again on the work in front of him -- but his thoughts were a million miles away.

By the time House exited the exam room, Wilson had gradually worked himself into a quiet rage, nearly stabbing at the pages of the charts in front of him rather than writing on them. He had almost decided to confront House about his overtly flirtatious behavior when House approached the counter beside him. Wilson deliberately kept his eyes focused on his work, trying to rein in his irritation, as House reached him with an ironic smile on his lips.

"How do you solve a problem like dermatitis?"

Wilson frowned, more annoyed than usual by House's characteristically cryptic comment.

"What?" he said, shaking his head with a confused frown, his tone moody and impatient.

House frowned, too, finally seeming to notice the dark shift in Wilson's mood. He opened his mouth to speak, but before House could answer or Wilson could bring up his complaint, a woman stepped out of the exam room House had just left.

Glancing up at her, Wilson instantly understood House's comment from moments earlier as he noted her nun's habit, but was not amused. He returned his gaze to the charts in front of him, ignoring the woman as she engaged a skeptical House in a brief conversation about her religious beliefs, as opposed to her appreciation of his _lack _of religious beliefs.

After a moment, feeling more irritated than ever by the fact that his intended confrontation had been thwarted, Wilson mumbled a quietly resentful, "Excuse me," picked up his chart, and walked away.

******************************

For House, the moment after Wilson turned and walked away was when things started to go bad.

The patient he thought he had finished treating was suddenly struggling for her life -- not once, but twice -- and the second time was presumed to be his fault, not only by Cuddy and his team, but apparently by Wilson as well.

The following day saw him striving to prove himself to everyone, to prove that he had indeed given Sister Augustine the correct dosage of epinephrine, and her symptoms were the result of some underlying medical condition, as opposed to the human error -- _his_ human error -- that everyone seemed to be assuming had occurred.

The afternoon found him sitting in the hospital's chapel, half-watching his soap on a tiny, hand-held television set, his mind focused on finding the solution to the mystery of Sister Augustine's suddenly failing health.

When one of the other nuns entered the chapel, House fought back a sense of irritation -- both at being interrupted in the middle of his process, and at the increased pressure he instantly felt with her presence, reminding him of his failure thus far to help her friend.

Or -- not so much her friend, actually, he quickly discovered when the nun began to talk to him, informing him of the delusional and dishonest nature she believed that the other nun had.

Irritation faded into interest, and House found himself offering her some of his chocolate, indirectly inviting her to sit down with him and talk some more. He immediately set out trying to shock her, to throw her off her guard and embarrass her by pointing out the four deadly sins she had apparently committed in the course of the thirty seconds or so she had spent talking with him; but he was pleasantly surprised to find that she could hold her own against him.

House found himself intrigued by the innocent, unintentional flirtation in her voice and the bluntly intimate way she spoke to him, openly assessing him emotionally with unsettling accuracy. Against his better judgment and utterly at odds with what he had expected, House realized something he was reluctant to admit.

She reminded him a bit of himself, in fact.

He actually _liked_ this nun.

A smile of grudging amusement crossed House's lips as he held her eyes for a long moment, watching her blush slightly under the intensity of his gaze.

"You know, from the way you're looking at me right now, I'd say you just hit number five: lust."

House silently declared his own victory in the brief, good-natured battle of wits in which they had engaged, as the nun's face flushed with trapped self-consciousness, and she rose to her feet, handing him back what was left of his chocolate bar. House stared at the place where she had been for a few moments, a pensive half-smile on his lips as he considered their conversation, before finally returning his attention to the television in his hands.

A moment later, he glanced up in surprise as someone slid silently into the seat beside him that the nun had just vacated. He looked up, then down again at his television without speaking when he saw that it was Wilson.

"That looked like an interesting conversation," Wilson observed in a deceptively mild tone.

Casting a suspicious sideways glance in Wilson's direction, House answered with a vaguely affirmative grunt, his attention remaining focused on his soap opera. Wilson was silent for a long moment, just sitting there beside House, staring at the back of the pew in front of them.

"She found you pretty attractive, didn't she?"

House glanced slyly toward Wilson again, responding with deliberate carelessness. "Yeah, but how could she help it?"

"Yeah." Wilson's laugh sounded forced, utterly insincere. After a painfully awkward moment of silence, he added leadingly, "She's... kind of pretty herself..."

House's lips twisted slightly in the barest ghost of a smile, though his gaze did not shift from his television show as he shrugged and agreed. "Yeah, she was definitely hot. The whole time we were talking, I was just _so distracted_. Couldn't stop picturing what she looks like out of that sexy little habit."

Wilson let out another forced laugh, this one tinged with a bitter sarcasm, but he said nothing for a long, tense moment. When he spoke at last, his voice was soft but cold with suppressed anger and resentment.

"Is there no female alive that you don't feel the need to constantly flirt with?"

House looked up sharply at that, a single brow raised in question. "Excuse me?"

"I'm amazed you even have any attraction to me at all, considering the way that anything that happens to stroll by you in a skirt turns your head so easily," Wilson continued with a too-casual shrug. He was quiet for a moment before adding, "I thought you wanted to be with _me_."

House's jaw worked with repressed irritation as he glared at Wilson, silent for a long moment. But if Wilson thought he was speechless in the face of his accusation, he was wrong. House was merely gearing up for his own attack.

"Well, I'm just not sure, Wilson," House mused at last with false thoughtfulness. "Maybe you should put on a skirt and test that theory."

"Damn it, House!" Wilson snapped, angrily slamming his clenched fist into the back of the pew in front of him, turning his head away as he struggled to restrain his temper before finally glaring back at his stunned lover. "Why can't you ever take _anything_ seriously? Everything is a game to you! Our entire _relationship_ is a game to you..."

"That's absolutely not true," House cut him off abruptly, rising to his feet. "And if you can't see that, then this entire conversation is nothing but a waste of time."

He started to push angrily past Wilson, but Wilson rose to his feet beside him, grabbing his arm and pushing him against the back of the pew in front of them, holding him there and refusing to let him pass.

"No," Wilson snarled, seething fury blazing in his dark eyes. "No, you are _not_ going to just walk away from me, House."

House's eyes widened in indignation, staring down at Wilson's hand tightly clenched around his arm, and he jerked it away, glancing uneasily toward the aisle which Wilson's body was currently blocking him from reaching.

"Oh, yes, I am," House declared, trying again to push past him.

Wilson was having none of it. "You've been playing games with me since this whole thing with the nun started," he stated with anger and accusation in his voice. "And maybe you're just trying to... to distract yourself from the fact that you might have actually made a mistake... or maybe you're just trying to get back at me for daring to point out that you _may_ have screwed up this time. I don't know. But..."

"I don't owe you an explanation for daring to speak to a woman -- one who's completely taken, by the way... by _God_, no less!" House stated in defiance with an incredulous laugh. "If I've got to somehow _earn _this relationship by isolating myself from every member of the female gender, then... well, maybe I don't want to _be_ in this relationship!"

"Well, if you're not committed to me, then maybe _I_ don't want to be in this relationship!" Wilson shot back. "If you want to be with _me_, then you can choose between me, and every woman who happens to catch your eye every five or ten seconds."

"You're making that a very easy choice!" House informed him, eyes blazing with outrage. "You think you can control me? I'd like to test that theory." He glared pointedly down at Wilson's white-knuckled hand on the pew behind him, his arm blocking House's path, and raised his cane warningly. "If you want your knuckles to remain intact, you'll move your hand now and let me pass."

Wilson's eyes narrowed, something dangerous flashing in them, and his free hand moved with startling speed and precision, snatching the cane from House's hand and tossing it onto the pew behind him. In the same motion, Wilson's other hand moved from the pew to clutch House's arm again in a forceful, almost bruising grip.

His voice lowered in warning as he leaned in close to House, snarling, "You will _not _threaten me, House. You wanna behave like a freakin' whore and chase after every piece of ass you see? Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. But you try to hit me... and you might be surprised by how hard I hit back."

Wilson released him abruptly, and House fell back against the pew, staring at him in stunned silence as Wilson turned and stalked out of the chapel, still visibly fuming.

**************************

House spent the rest of the day actively avoiding any sort of contact with Wilson.

He was furious and indignant and utterly determined to make Wilson regret his nerve in thinking that he could speak to House and manhandle him in such a way. House was getting quite tired of Wilson's jealous temper, and wanted to make it perfectly clear that he had no intention of putting up with it any longer.

Wilson approached him a couple of times that afternoon, but House responded by immediately placing himself in the presence of other people, effectively shutting down Wilson's attempts at private conversation.

When Cameron approached him near the end of the day, surprising him with an unexpected Christmas gift, House accepted it silently, caught off guard and uncertain how to respond. A thought crossed his mind unbidden.

_Wilson would hit the roof if he knew..._

A slow smile spread across House's face as he decided that he would definitely keep the gift -- Wilson's opinion be damned.

House spent the last couple of hours of his day in the clinic, and had just seen his last patient and was heading for the door, when it opened in front of him, and he found himself face to face with Wilson.

Wilson stepped into the room, closing the door carefully behind him before turning to face House fully, his dark gaze earnest and intent and pleading.

"Forgive me."

House blinked, surprised by his abrupt, urgent words -- and not quite sure whether they were intended as a plea or a command. After a moment, he looked away with a derisive little snort.

"Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?" he pointed out.

"House..."

Wilson followed him as he turned away, reaching out a cautious hand to rest on his arm, a much gentler version of the harsh grip he had used earlier. House looked pointedly down at Wilson's hand on his arm, meeting Wilson's eyes in expectant warning. Wilson did not remove his hand, holding House's gaze as he spoke with a soft intensity.

"_Please_. I'm _sorry_."

"Yeah. You are."

"House, I mean it. I just... I saw her flirting with you, and... and Cuddy's _always_ flirting with you, and I know you've... been with a lot of women, and..."

"Like you haven't?" House countered, pulling his arm away.

This time, Wilson let him. "I know. I know, I was wrong," Wilson insisted, moving with House so that they were still face to face. "But you see, that's just it. I _have_ been with a lot of people before you, and... and I just... jumped to conclusions."

"I'll say you did," House remarked with clear resentment, eyes lowered.

A moment's tense silence followed, and Wilson drew in a deep, shaky breath before confessing quietly, "It's been... exactly a year, today, since... since Julie told me about her affair and... and I left her. I've just been... been thinking about it all day, and about all the times I've done things like she did, and... and seeing you alone with someone else, and flirting with Cuddy last night, I guess I just... went a little nuts... and I'm sorry, House, I'm _so sorry_. I was an idiot."

House considered his words for a moment, softening slightly at his explanation. Wilson instantly latched onto the subtle opening, sidling further into House's space, reaching out to gently, cautiously touch his arms. House did not pull away, but he averted his gaze stubbornly, his voice low and resentful as he spoke.

"I'm not Julie, and I'm not you. Don't project your infidelity issues onto me."

"I know, I know, House, and I'm so sorry," Wilson repeated, his hands running slowly up and down House's arms as he edged yet closer to House. "I'm just... so afraid of losing you. No one has ever made me as happy as you make me, House. Everything is finally right in my life, and it's all because of you, and when I think that someone might come along and end that, I just... it just makes me crazy. I'm sorry. I'll stop; I'll do whatever you need me to do, House. I just... can't lose you..."

As he spoke his low, fervored words, Wilson slid his hands around House's waist, pulling him gently but insistently closer, his mouth drifting nearer and nearer to House's as he stepped slowly backward, guiding House toward the exam table behind him until he had no choice but to lean back against it, yielding to Wilson's gentle advance.

"I'm _sorry_," Wilson whispered, brushing a feather-light kiss against House's jawline. "I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry_." He kissed him again and again – light, barely there kisses that gradually intensified, interspersed with his fervent plea, repeated again and again with quiet, desperate insistence. "Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me... _please_, House... I just don't want to lose you... please, forgive me, _forgive me_..."

"You're... you're not going to... lose me," House whispered breathlessly at last, his eyes closed, his head falling back slightly in unintentional response to Wilson's kisses against his throat. "God, Wilson... I don't... _want_ anyone else... You have to know that... I only want you..."

"I know, I know," Wilson whispered hoarsely, his face crumpling in regret as he lowered his head, his forehead resting against House's as he caught his breath in several slow, deep gasps. "I'm sorry, House... just forgive me... please..."

Anger at Wilson's jealousy melted into a sense of awe and wondering disbelief at the fact that someone -- _Wilson_ -- wanted him so much. House wasn't used to having anyone care so much, be so desperate for his affections; and he had to admit that, while overwhelming and frustrating at times... it was also incredibly flattering.

It was a rare and precious thing that House found himself utterly unwilling to give up.

"Of course I do," he responded softly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he relented at last, raising his arms to embrace Wilson and hold him close. "I forgive you... I forgive you, Wilson..."

**************************

Shortly after House and Wilson left the hospital and headed home to enjoy an evening of hot make-up sex, Cameron made her way into House's office to gather her things and prepare to go home for the night.

She frowned in surprise when she saw the gift she had given House earlier that day, still sitting on his desk – only now, joined by a small envelope resting on top of it, with her name written in thick, dark block letters. She picked up the envelope, sliding it open with her finger and take out a folded sheet of plain paper inside. Her frown deepened with disappointment as she read it, absently picking up the rejected gift in her other hand.

"_Cameron – _

_Merry Christmas._

_Thanks, but no thanks._

_House"_


	6. Chapter 6

Wilson leaned casually against the wall in the hallway outside Lucy Palmiero's hospital room, waiting with House's team, subtly glancing around the corner every few minutes at the rather startling and intriguing sight of House, actually engaged in conversation with a patient.

Of course, that patient was a raving schizophrenic whose conversation hadn't made a shred of sense since she had been admitted.

Throughout the day, House's interest in this particular patient had been a cause for speculation among his team, as they wondered what it was about the murky workings of Lucy's mind that drew House's fascination so completely.

"It just doesn't make sense," Foreman remarked, shaking his head in confusion. "The man thrives on rationality. It's all that's important to him. What does he find so interesting about the mental ramblings of a crazy person?"

Chase shrugged, smiling slightly as he speculated on a possible answer. "It's a mystery. Maybe that's it. He's fascinated because in all his rationality, the one thing he _can't_ figure out... is a mind that's completely _irrational_."

Wilson was silent, smiling thoughtfully as he listened to their conversation without interjecting his own opinions. He savored the sense of quiet respect and admiration he seemed to get from House's fellows, as possibly the one person in all the world who really knew House, really understood what made him tick.

And he had no intention of sharing that information with any of them any time soon.

As Chase and Foreman discussed the possible explanations for House's unusual behavior, Cameron kept stealing uncertain glances in Wilson's direction. He avoided direct eye contact with her, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes in irritation.

He _really_ did not like Cameron.

Over the past few weeks, Wilson had noticed that the pretty young immunologist seemed to be developing quite an interest in House, and in much more than a professional sense. He noticed that she watched House a little too closely -- was a little too aware of his movements, reactions -- anticipated his needs and requests a little too easily -- for his comfort.

As Cameron leaned casually on the wall beside him, Wilson stifled the deep sigh of resignation that rose in his throat as he realized that she intended to talk to him -- perhaps even confide in him -- and most likely, about House.

"Hey," she said in a quiet, self-conscious voice, giving him a nervous little half-smile.

Wilson forced his trademark warm, understanding smile to his lips as he met her eyes. "Hey," he replied with a nod. "What's up?"

"I just... wanted to talk to you about something," Cameron said in a hesitant voice, staring down at her feet as she swallowed hard. "I'm... sure you know this. The others don't have a clue, but... it's House's birthday today."

Wilson let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Don't ask _me_ what he likes," he advised ruefully. "I had a hard enough time finding him something from _me_."

"Oh, no." Cameron shook her head, eyes wide as her pretty lips twisted into a grimace. "No, I wouldn't... wouldn't get him a present. Not after..." Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head again, looking away. "No, I'm... not even sure I should mention it."

Wilson frowned, masking his curiosity with concern. "Why not?"

"Well, see... for Christmas, I got him a gift, and... I didn't think much of it. I mean, a lot of people get their bosses Christmas gifts, right?"

Wilson nodded his kind encouragement, not letting on that he saw right through her rationalizations as to why she had been most likely the only one of House's fellows to get him a Christmas gift.

"Except... he gave it back."

Wilson's features fell into an expression of schooled sympathy, perfected through many years of frequent use, as he shook his head sadly and reached out an understanding hand to touch her arm.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes he just... he just doesn't think about... how other people feel..." Wilson laughed apologetically as he added, "And that's the understatement of the century, but... I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt your feelings, he just... just doesn't like to have a big deal made about... birthdays, Christmas... anything that singles him out for attention. It just... makes him feel uncomfortable. It's nothing personal, that's just how he is with everyone."

Cameron studied his expression for a long moment, considering his words, before observing quietly, holding his gaze in a silent question. "Except you."

Wilson allowed a tiny glimmer of a smile to play around the corners of his mouth as he nodded and admitted, "Except me."

Cameron sighed, looking down at the floor again, her shoulders slumping with resigned acceptance. Wilson hoped that the conversation was over, but a moment later she opened her mouth to speak again.

Thankfully, at that moment, House came around the corner, and immediately everyone's attention was focused on him, eager to know about his strange visit with his current patient.

"Learn anything from the human connection?" Wilson asked, standing up straight and regarding House with interest.

House began to explain about the things he had discovered during his conversation with Lucy, and Wilson stayed and listened for a few minutes. Once he was satisfied that House was making progress on his case, Wilson excused himself and made his way back down the hall toward his own office.

As he was leaving, Lucy's son arrived with House's favorite sandwich, which he had somehow conned the kid into getting for him.

"No pickles, and it's cold now." The kid apologized as he handed over the sandwich.

Just before he got out of earshot, Wilson heard Cameron's confidently knowing reply.

"If it's a reuben, that's the way he likes it."

Quietly fuming, Wilson quickened his pace, his mood darkening with irritation at Cameron's obsession with his lover.

_She'd better listen to me, and she'd better back off -- and she will, if the little bitch knows what's good for her._

**************************

Cuddy stood in the hallway outside House's empty office, glancing furtively up and down the hall for any sign of House... and wondering at how she could feel such a need for secrecy while within the walls of her own professional realm. However, as she found her eyes drawn down the hall toward Wilson's office, Cuddy remembered why it was that she felt the need to conduct this particular small mission in complete privacy.

_He's horribly possessive of House lately. I wonder if something is going on between them... something more than friendship..._

Shaking her head to clear her mind of the strangely intriguing thought, trying to focus on the matter at hand, Cuddy stepped swiftly into House's office, walking to the desk and setting the file in her hand down on it. A brief search revealed a post-it pad shoved into the back of a drawer, and she scrawled a hurried note on one sheet, sticking it to the top of the folder.

_House -- _

_URGENT!_

_Read Immediately!_

_P.S. For your eyes only ;)_

With a smile on her face, satisfied that her mission was complete, Cuddy made her way back out of House's office and down the hall toward the clinic -- never once thinking to look out the window and across to the one opening into Wilson's office.

******************************

Wilson frowned as he watched Cuddy write the note, wondering immediately at what it might say, and whether or not it was work-related.

_Probably not,_ he decided grimly. _She's such a slut. Dresses like one, acts like one... and probably thinks she can sneak this past me and make a move on House behind my back..._

Within moments, he was in House's office, and immediately found the light blue file folder with the post-it note attached. Ignoring the note's warning, he opened the file, to find that his suspicions had been more or less accurate, and the contents were not in any way related to hospital business.

The file was empty except for a single folded piece of paper.

A birthday card.

Wilson considered for a moment, noting that the card in and of itself seemed innocent enough. Making a quick decision, Wilson closed the file again and picked it up, carrying it under his arm back to his own office. Sitting down at his desk, he pushed the power button on the machine he kept under his desk.

He smiled to himself, humming a little as he fed the folder, card still inside, into the shredder, and listened to the satisfying munching sound it made.

*****************************

As he prepared to go home at the end of the day, House found himself feeling unusually depressed.

He had solved his case, cured his patient – not only of the disease for which he had intended to treat her, but also of the unknown ailment that was causing her schizophrenic symptoms – and done the right thing for the woman and her son, despite the fact that the boy now hated him and blamed him for his brief stint in foster care.

_It's not like it matters,_ he reminded himself as he made his way wearily toward the exit. _Never going to see them again. One kid's opinion doesn't matter._

Still, the boy's anger in the place of what should have been gratitude seemed to be nothng more than the icing on the proverbial cake.

_And what an unfortunate choice of proverbs _that _happens to be._

House told himself – several times, and very emphatically – that he didn't care that no one had so much as mentioned his birthday. Literally dozens of other birthdays – _most _of his other birthdays – had passed with little or no acknowledgement from anyone; and yet, somehow, it never failed to sting a little. Not one single person had mentioned his birthday – not even Wilson.

But it didn't matter, he reminded himself. It didn't matter at all.

House walked past Wilson's door, glancing in, hoping that they could spend some time together that evening – but Wilson had already left for the day. Apparently, Wilson really had completely forgotten that the day held any particular significance; and if he didn't remember, House had no intention of reminding him. It was not out of any sense of spite or petulance, but rather just that if House had to tell him, any effort Wilson made would be meaningless, anyway.

The vague sense of disappointment he felt grew heavier with every step as he made his way toward the hospital exit. He made the drive home in silence, not bothering to turn on the radio as was his usual custom, feeling a sharp, empty ache building in his chest as he tried to focus on anything but how lonely it felt to have his birthday utterly and completely ignored.

By the time he reached his apartment and stepped through the doorway into the darkened living room, House had resigned himself to another evening spent alone in front of the television. He didn't bother to turn on the light as he headed for the kitchen, and the waiting six pack that would help to dull his senses and make the lonely evening pass more quickly.

Suddenly, he felt a strong hand snake around his waist, jerking him backward, off balance, as another hand closed over his eyes. House's heart lurched in a moment of panic, before a familiar voice behind him – low and warm and hushed with intimate mystery – caused his fears to dissipate into amused curiosity.

"Don't move," Wilson ordered softly. "Don't pull away. Just – let me lead you."

"Into what?" House asked in an exaggeratedly doubtful tone.

"Shhh," Wilson whispered, and House felt his breath against his throat, a moment before soft lips caressed the sensitive skin in a light, tender kiss. "Just trust me."

House allowed Wilson to lead him, slowly and a little awkwardly, across the living room and into the kitchen. Once they had reached the center of the room, Wilson stopped walking, taking a moment to be sure House's footing was steady, but not yet removing his hand from House's eyes.

"Keep your eyes closed," Wilson told him softly. "I've got a surprise for you."

House let out a put-upon sigh, but he was smiling as he conceded with false reluctance. "Okay."

Wilson's hands were removed from his body, and House heard a strangely familiar hissing sound, then smelled the pleasantly acrid scent of wood smoke – combined with other, indiscernible but pleasant odors that gradually began to waft upward to fill his nostrils. Then, Wilson's warm, strong hands were on his waist, protective and steadying, as Wilson's voice spoke softly into his ear from behind him, in a tone of restrained but eager anticipation.

"Okay. Open your eyes."

House opened his eyes, blinking a few times to allow them to adjust to the dim lighting of the room. The overhead lights, every lamp in the house, was turned off; and the only illumination came from several elegant taper candles in silver holders arranged on the table. Surrounding the candles, an elegant and tempting meal had been laid out, as elaborate and impressive as House would have expected Wilson's handiwork to be.

On the far end of the table was a homemade birthday cake, which House knew without checking was his favorite – Wilson's famous banana nut cake with sweet cream cheese icing.

Arranged on the plate directly in front of him was a small box covered in black velvet.

As House stared at the elaborate scene Wilson had prepared for him, jaw slightly agape in surprise and wonder, he felt Wilson's lips on the back of his neck, edging forward along his jaw, as Wilson's arms slid around him, pulling his body back against Wilson's chest.

"Happy birthday," Wilson whispered in his ear, raising one hand to turn House's face toward his and capture his mouth in a deep, searching kiss.

House turned in Wilson's embrace, returning it and the kiss fervently, until when they finally parted, both were breathless. House felt the ache in his chest intensifying – though this time for a very different reason. He kept his eyes closed, mostly to keep back the suspicious moisture he felt burning at the backs of his eyelids, his head bowed, forehead resting against Wilson's as he tried to catch his breath.

Finally, he confessed in a soft voice filled with quiet awe, and far more vulnerable than House usually allowed his voice to sound. "I… didn't think you remembered. No one… no one _else_ did…"

Wilson smiled, raising a hand to tenderly cup House's cheek, his other arm around House's waist drawing him closer.

"I couldn't forget," he murmured. "I love you too much. No one else could ever love you as much as I do, House." The words were a low, fervent declaration of devotion, as Wilson's lips drifted closer to House's again. "I love you… more than anyone else… could ever imagine. And I'm going to spend… the rest of my life… making sure that you have all the things that you deserve."

Touched by Wilson's heartfelt promise, and the tender affection in his touch, his eyes, his voice, mirroring the gesture laid out before him on his kitchen table, House could not find words to respond. It was so much more than he had expected – more than he deserved. Filled with a sense of overwhelming gratitude and affection that he wasn't sure he knew how to express, all House could do was to draw Wilson in for another deep, lingering kiss, as he tried his best to return Wilson's sentiments, without use of the words which came to him with such difficulty.


	7. Chapter 7

"She's been averaging eighteen hours of sleep a day since her admission..."

House suppressed a sigh as he tried, without success, to get ahead of Cameron. Despite his efforts, she easily kept pace with him as she kept talking, arguing, trying to maneuver him into taking on the patient she was describing.

"Three ER doctors, two neurologists, and a radiologist have all figured out what it's not. We need to figure out what it _is_," Cameron explained as they reached the elevators.

House finally turned to face her, once he had no ready means of escape, retorting, "Well, maybe if above-mentioned doctors were interested in my opinion, they would have asked for it."

Cameron gave him a slightly sheepish smile of amusement. "None of them are willing to subject themselves to you."

House returned her smile, amused as well, and oddly satisfied by that knowledge. "No pain, no gain."

He shrugged as he pressed the button for the elevator again impatiently. Cameron got into the elevator with him, still arguing her case as they made their way closer to his office. Finally, just outside the door, House stopped and turned to face her.

"What's the first thing you ask a doctor who's referring a patient?"

Cameron frowned. "Are you questioning my ability to take a history?" She sighed in resignation when House just looked at her in silent expectation. "What's the primary..."

"Not what. Why?"

More confused than ever, Cameron shook her head. "Diseases don't have motives."

"No, but doctors do. Why this patient? What interests you? Give me the chart."

Cameron was understandably suspicious. "Why?"

House smiled. "I find your interest interesting," he admitted, turning to walk into his office.

He stopped, surprised, when Cameron reached out to touch his arm before he could escape. He glanced down at the place where her hand rested, just above his wrist, then back up at her expectantly, awaiting her explanation.

Cameron was staring down at his wrist, a soft, wistful smile on her lips when she finally looked up to meet his eyes.

"Nice watch," she observed quietly. "New?"

House looked down at the gold watch on his wrist, taking a moment to admire it himself, before looking up at her again, the barest trace of a smile on his lips.

"Yeah. Birthday present."

Cameron nodded once. "I thought so." She was quiet for a moment as she dropped her hand from House's arm and added, "Wilson has good taste."

House's head tilted slightly in an uncertain expression as he watched her turn and walk away, wondering how she had guessed the source of his new watch. He raised his free hand to absently trace its edges, seeing in his mind's eye the words Wilson had had engraved on its underside -- out of sight as long as House was wearing it, but ever-present in his mind.

_"With all my love, yours always -- James"_

*************************

House may have been in a relationship with another man that was very fulfilling and satisfying in every possible way -- but he was taken, not blind. So, naturally, when faced with the surgically-altered-to-perfection breasts of Mrs. Campbell, there was only one thing House could possibly do -- and that one thing was to share the vision of womanly perfection with his male lover.

"Well. _That's_ what breasts look like."

"Is a lie a lie if everybody knows it's a lie?" House mused, his mind strangely focused on the clinic patient's words as opposed to her breasts.

"Well, if a tree pretends to fall in a forest..." Wilson smirked, shaking his head. "House, come on. They're _breasts_. They're a birthday present, not a philosophical treatise."

"Speaking of birthday presents..." House changed the subject, falling into step with Wilson as they made their way toward the counter. "Cameron noticed mine. And... instantly guessed that it was from you."

"Well, duh," Wilson replied, glancing at House dubiously as he stopped at the counter and picked up a pen to mark Mrs. Campbell's chart, his words accompanied by a ruefully apologetic laugh. "Who _else_ is gonna get _you_ a birthday present, House?"

House managed to suppress his slight flinch at those words, but couldn't disguise quite all of the hurt they caused.

"Nice," he muttered, his eyes finding the floor. "Thanks."

"Come on, House." Wilson's voice immediately softened with regret. "You know I didn't mean it like that..."

"Right."

"House..." Wilson's voice lowered secretively, and he edged slightly closer to House, glancing self-consciously around to see if anyone was paying any attention to them. "... we can't talk about this right now. Okay? Can we wait until we can get to one of our offices?"

"Yeah. Sure," House muttered. "Because God help us if anyone were to actually _find out_ that we're..."

"House... we talked about this." Wilson's anxious eyes scanned the room again before meeting House's gaze. "For now, it's just better if..."

"If you leave your options open?" House finished for him, his blue eyes icy and piercing.

Wilson blinked, backing up slightly, caught off guard by the abrupt accusation. "_Excuse_ me?" he sputtered after a moment. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Last three months, same five ties," House observed, and Wilson frowned in confusion at the apparent change in subject. "Thursday should be that paisley thing."

"So I got a new one." Wilson shrugged, shaking his head in bewilderment. He lowered his voice and leaned in slightly closer, glancing around again as he added, "I... I thought you would like it."

"No, you didn't. I hate green -- and you _know_ I hate green. You bought that for yourself -- because you want to look pretty. At work. For someone who's not me."

House's tone was flat and defeated as he took another chart from the stack and headed toward another exam room, unwilling to face Wilson's weak explanation. Not to be deterred, however, Wilson caught his arm and spun him back around to face him. Unbalanced by the sudden move, House bit back a startled gasp, his heart accelerating slightly under the dark intensity of Wilson's gaze.

"You really think I would cheat on you."

It sounded like a statement, but the disbelief in Wilson's tone made it a question. House was silent for a moment, locked in mental debate, before finally glancing down at Wilson's hand on his arm and meeting his eyes again. His voice was level and cautiously calm as he spoke at last.

"You'd better take your hand off my arm -- before someone accuses you of inappropriate touching in the workplace. Or before your secret girlfriend starts to wonder if you've got a secret boyfriend."

Without giving Wilson time to respond, House jerked away from Wilson's firm grip on his arm, turning and stalking swiftly into the exam room.

******************************

Needless to say, things were very awkward between House and Wilson for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, Wilson was needed to consult on their patient, as cancer was one suspected diagnosis. House subtly orchestrated his involvement so that they were never in a room alone together, always surrounded by his team, so that Wilson couldn't get another chance to plead his case. He was fairly certain that his team picked up on the quiet tension between them, but no one dared ask him about it.

Toward the end of the day, House found himself alone in his office. A shadow fell across his doorway, and House looked up to see Wilson leaning against the doorframe, studying him through speculative eyes. House was quiet for a moment, debating whether he should order Wilson out, or get up and walk away himself. Noting the almost fierce certainty in Wilson's eyes, House resigned himself to the fact that the conversation was _going_ to happen, whether he liked it or not.

"Foreman got the gang testing for tularemia?" he asked casually, eyes focused back down on his desk.

"Yep." Wilson's short response made it clear that he was in no mood for small talk.

House looked up at him accusingly, deciding to oblige him. "So what's her name? Have I met her?"

"There's nobody, House," Wilson replied without hesitation, his voice soft and earnest. "Okay? I'm not cheating on you."

"Your lips say no… your _shoes_ say yes."

Despite the solemn expression of concern in his dark eyes, Wilson's mouth twitched in a hint of a smile, as he shrugged slightly. "Well, they're French," he pointed out. "You can't trust a word they say."

House didn't crack a smile, didn't so much as blink.

Wilson's smile faded completely as he stepped away from the doorway, slowly closing the distance between them. "House," he insisted quietly. "I haven't cheated on you. Okay? I _wouldn't_. I… had lunch with one of the nurses. It's her first time in the oncology unit and she's having a tough time emotionally – but that's all it was. Just lunch."

"Perfect," House muttered, looking down at his desk again and attempting to busy himself.

Wilson swiftly reached him, sitting in the chair across from him and reaching out to catch his hands, stilling his attempts at distraction. Irritated at the restriction, House glared up at him, defiant and angry and accusing.

"I was just trying to be nice," Wilson softly persisted. "That's all. I promise."

"Yeah, well." House looked away again stubbornly with a falsely careless shrug, but did not pull his hands away. "Your promises don't mean much."

All at once Wilson released House's hands, slamming a fist down hard on the edge of House's desk as he rose abruptly to his feet.

"_Damn it_, House!" he snarled in frustration. "Are you _never_ going to let me forget my past mistakes?"

House tensed slightly at the raw anger in Wilson's reaction, but did not look up. He swallowed hard, his gaze focused on the spot on his desk where Wilson's fist had just been.

"You get absolutely furious with me and threaten to _hit _me when I get jealous of you and your almost _constant _flirtations – and yet if I just _talk _to a woman that happens to _work _for me, you're gonna throw a tantrum over it and behave like a possessive, jealous child. Does that make sense to you, House? _Really_?"

House was silent, thrown a bit off guard and unsure how to respond in the face of Wilson's sudden fury, and Wilson fell silent, his temper slowly fading at House's stunned reaction. When Wilson walked around the desk toward him, House tensed slightly in instinctive reaction, but did not pull away as Wilson crouched in front of him, resting his hands on his knees. Wilson raised one hand to run it nervously through his hair with a shaky sigh of defeat, before returning it to House's leg, staring intently at House until he reluctantly met his gaze.

"Look. I love _you_, House. And only you. I mean it. I would _never_ cheat on _you._ Please. You have to believe that."

House was quiet, relaxing slightly now that it seemed Wilson's rage had dissipated, but still unwilling to relent completely.

"Please," Wilson whispered, edging in closer to House, raising one hand to rest gently at the back of his neck, massaging slowly as his other hand began to run slowly up and down House's thigh. "Please… you have to believe me. I _love_ you, House. I _love_ you…"

When Wilson leaned in to kiss him softly, House allowed it, but did not respond at first.

"Please, House… please believe me," Wilson persisted, soft urgency in his voice. "You _have_ to believe me… please…"

Finally, House relented, tentatively responding to Wilson's kiss, softly pressing his tongue past Wilson's yielding lips, raising his hands to pull Wilson closer. Both men were acutely aware that anyone who happened to pass by House's office might see them; and while House knew better than to hope that Wilson would be willing to announce their relationship publicly if no one did happen to see them, that knowledge alone was gratifying.

House's forgiveness and acceptance meant more to Wilson than the secret he had insisted upon thus far.

Still, when Wilson finally rose and walked away to resume his duties, House's heart was heavy. He watched him go through eyes filled with weary resignation, because he knew that Wilson's long-formed habits were not likely to change – and he also knew that he was not likely to leave Wilson because of those habits.

He wanted him, _needed _him, too much.

It wasn't really surprising to House. Wilson could have anyone he wanted, anyone at all – and it was as Wilson had implied in the clinic. No one else would have House, besides Wilson. No one else would be willing to put up with his caustic, difficult personality and irritatingly obsessive nature. No, Wilson was all House had, and likely all he would _ever_ have.

But as the light floral scent of a woman's perfume that Wilson had still carried on him wafted through the air, and the sweet taste of flavored lip gloss lingered on his tongue, House's heart sank with the knowledge that despite his best efforts, he only had Wilson in part.

It didn't matter, he knew.

House would rather have Wilson only in part, than to have none of him at all.


	8. Chapter 8

"The healer with his magic powers… I could rub his gentle brow for hours…"

House glanced behind him in surprised confusion before returning his narrowed gaze to Wilson.

It _looked_ as if Wilson was talking to him, but the words coming out of his mouth were… alarming, to say the least.

"His manly chest, his stubbled jaw… everything about him leaves me raw…"

"Psych ward's upstairs," House informed Wilson, starting to walk past him.

"With joy, oh House, your very name… will never leave this girl the same."

Wilson smirked as he placed the sheet of paper from which he had been reading into House's hand. "Not bad for an eighty-two year old. She asked me to give that to her true love."

All became clear, as House realized who had written the poem, and Wilson's cryptic reading suddenly made sense. He glanced around, a trace of a smile barely concealing his embarrassment as the lobby full of staff and patients suppressed giggles and expressions of amusement at the impromptu performance.

House felt a hot flush fill his face at the knowledge of just why so many of them found it so funny. It was impossible for them to imagine anyone finding him so attractive as to compose a love poem for him – or thinking that he might appreciate it if they dared to do such a thing.

_Who'd want to be with_ me? House's heart sank as his thoughts mirrored those he imagined in the people around him, and he felt sick. _Who in their right mind?_

House studied Wilson's expression for a long moment, taking in the dark eyes sparkling with mirth, mingled with affection. Wilson was trying not to laugh, clearly as amused as everyone else by the old woman's crush, as well as by the fact that he had just gotten away with reading House love poetry in front of the entire lobby, without anyone catching on to the secret joke between the two of them.

Or, Wilson _meant_ it to be between the two of them, anyway.

Despite his forced half-smile, House was not amused.

_He's so _glad_ no one's catching on, too… because if they did, he might actually have to be _faithful_…_

"What can I say? Chicks with no teeth turn me on," he replied in a flat tone as he abruptly turned and headed away from the lobby.

"That's… fairly disgusting." Wilson looked up, his voice trailing off when he realized that House was walking away from him. "House?"

Wilson knew that House was not so far down the hallway that he couldn't hear him, but he did not respond, merely hastened his pace as he moved away from the clinic as quickly as possible. Wilson's jaw set with determination, and he hurried after House, easily catching up with him just around the corner and out of sight of the clinic filled with waiting patients and staff.

Without a word, Wilson caught House's arm and pushed him ahead of him into an empty patient room beside them, closing the door behind them and locking it without looking as he did so. House spun on his heel to face Wilson, instantly furious.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, advancing on Wilson in barely bridled fury, brandishing his cane in a gesture of frustration. "When I'm _walking away from you_, that should be a pretty good indicator that I _don't_ want you around!"

"I don't care," Wilson retorted, taking a step toward House to match the older man's advance, defiance flashing in his eyes. "You're _not_ walking away from me, House – not until you tell me what is going on here. What's wrong? Why are you so angry with me all of a sudden?"

"If I wanted to talk about it," House snapped, "I'd be _talking about it_, instead of trying to avoid you." He moved to push past Wilson to the door. "And speaking of avoiding you…"

"_No_," Wilson cut him off abruptly in a sharp, authoritative tone, grabbing House by the arms and shoving him against the wall behind the door, so hard that House winced in pain at the impact. "No, you are _not_ leaving this room until you talk to me."

House struggled to free himself from Wilson's restraint, but couldn't gain the balance and leverage necessary to do so, as the younger man easily held him pinned against the wall. With a frustrated growl of helpless fury, House let his head fall back against the wall behind him, closing his eyes for a moment before looking up again to glare at Wilson.

"Why should I _want_ to talk to you?" he demanded. "And for that matter, why are _you_ so all about the openness all of a sudden? Mr. Secretive – can't let anyone know we're actually together, because that might cramp your style." House fairly spat the words at Wilson in bitter resentment. "You were just _loving_ it back there – you were really getting off on the fact that no one in that room had a _clue_ that you were reading that stupid love poem to your _actual boyfriend_!"

"No," Wilson insisted, his eyes and voice both softening as he began to realize what it was that was bothering House. "No, it wasn't like that, not at all. I wasn't getting off on the secret, House. I just… thought the poem was funny, that's all. It was just a joke…"

"You mean _I'm_ just a joke," House countered, holding Wilson's gaze, his blue eyes blazing with challenge. "Yeah, that's so funny, Wilson. So freakin' hilarious to think that someone might actually find me _attractive_. Yeah, how could I have missed it? It's so obvious why you and the whole clinic got a good laugh out of _that_ one!"

Further incensed by his own words, House tried again to pull free of Wilson's grip, only to be pushed against the wall again, Wilson's hands locking around his wrists and pinning them near his head, his legs shifting nearer to hold House's back and keep him from fighting. Wilson held his gaze, his eyes warm and sympathetic and serious, as he answered in a low, soft voice of understanding.

"No, we didn't, House. Of _course_ you're attractive. _Incredibly_ attractive." Wilson's mouth twitched in a suppressed grin, his dancing eyes unable to contain their mirth as he added, just as seriously, "To… elderly women suffering from disease-induced dementia…"

"Bastard," House muttered in fury, struggling again, uselessly. "Take your hands off…"

"And _me_," Wilson continued, all humor faded from his eyes as he edged even nearer to House, until there was virtually no space between them. House went still, halted by the solemn earnestness in Wilson's expression. "Don't forget _me_."

Wilson leaned in to kiss House then, holding his gaze until he couldn't any longer, but House stubbornly turned his face away, his jaw set in determination not to bend – not yet.

"Come on," Wilson murmured. "Don't do that. House, you know I didn't mean it like that. If I didn't think you were attractive, do you think I'd be here right now? Do you think I'd even be wasting my time? Come on… I _love_ you…"

As he spoke, Wilson's hands shifted from House's arms to run up and down his sides, slipping under the hem of his untucked shirt and sliding slowly up, leaving trails of soft heat along House's skin. House couldn't suppress the shiver of desire that passed through him, even as he turned his head away again, refusing Wilson's kiss.

"You don't…" he whispered, the words barely audible, the thought only finished in his mind.

_You _don't_ love me… you hide me… humiliate me… cheat on me… you might _want_ me, but _love_ me… no, no you don't…_

Frustrated by the protest that House had only begun to voice, aware at least in part of what he had intended to say, Wilson abruptly shoved him against the wall again, holding him there with one hand against House's chest. His free hand rose to fist in House's hair, tugging his head backward slightly, jerking just hard enough to make House draw in a sharp breath of alarm at the pain it promised – but just barely failed to deliver.

Wilson leaned in very close, and House closed his eyes, unable to bear the intimacy of his expression, his very nearness. Wilson's breath was warm against his throat as he opened his mouth to speak, breathing hard as no words seemed to come to him. Abruptly, Wilson captured House's mouth in a hard, forceful kiss, almost bruising in its intensity.

House fought at first, but Wilson persisted, and eventually, against his will, House found himself yielding to the kiss. Encouraged by House's submission, Wilson deepened the kiss, his hand at the back of House's head refusing to let him pull away until they were both desperate for air, gasping in deep draughts of oxygen as they both leaned against the wall for support, barely able to stand.

When at last they had caught their breath, Wilson drew back slightly, waiting until House met his eyes to speak in a halting, shallow whisper, between harsh little gasps for air.

"I fired… that oncology nurse."

House blinked, surprised by the unexpected shift in the conversation, as much as by the information, but did not speak.

"The one I had lunch with," Wilson clarified, though it was unnecessary. "I fired her."

House studied his face for a long moment, looking away as he carefully weighed his response to Wilson's words.

_Is this a confession? Is he admitting to me that he actually…?_

"Why?" House asked softly at last, not quite meeting Wilson's eyes.

Wilson shrugged, looking away for a moment before looking back up at House with a faint, ironic smile. "She just wasn't cutting it," he replied. "I don't think she was cut out for such… emotionally difficult work. I let her go, with a recommendation to work somewhere else – and advised her to try a different department at her next hospital. Something like, I don't know – terminal pediatrics."

When House didn't so much as smile in response to Wilson's little joke, Wilson reached out a hand to touch his face, gently pushing his head up and silently encouraging House to meet his eyes. When that wordless hint proved ineffective, Wilson spoke in a tender voice of quiet urgency.

"Look at me."

House reluctantly raised solemn blue eyes to meet Wilson's, searching for some kind of answer on his face, without voicing the questions they both knew already lay between them.

"I did it for you," Wilson admitted at last, his expression solemn and sincere. "Because… I knew you had a problem with her… were jealous of her… so, I… didn't need her around. It's that simple." Wilson's voice was low and intent as he added softly, "You mean more to me than _anyone_ else, House. I need you to know that."

_So… not a confession, then… but… maybe _something_…_

House was still certain that Wilson had been with the nurse he had fired – had been unfaithful to him – but despite his suspicions, he couldn't help but feel that it meant _something_ that Wilson would fire her, for him. Perhaps Wilson was unwilling to admit to his past indiscretions – but was this a silent promise to abandon them altogether? Was this Wilson's way of telling House that, although he was not going to admit his wrongdoing, he was also not going to do it again?

"I love you," Wilson whispered, his hand at House's cheek caressing back until his fingers played through House's hair again, drawing him in gently but insistently for another kiss. "I love you…"

House could not quite bring himself to return the words – though both men knew how intensely he felt them. He had not yet allowed himself that much vulnerability with Wilson, despite the fact that Wilson seemed to utter the words dozens of times in a single day.

However, House's kiss said more than words could have expressed, as he finally yielded fully to Wilson's affections, and returned them, as he allowed his heart to hope again that maybe, _maybe_, they would be okay from here on out.

**************************

When Georgia's test results came back later that afternoon, House surveyed them with sudden clarity as to her behavior – and a sinking sensation of disappointment.

_Syphilis. Figures. Of course, her attraction _was_ the result of 'disease-induced dementia', like Wilson said. Or brain damage. Same thing. Either way, the only reason she found me attractive at all was because of her STD._

House's mind echoed again with the snickering laughter of the people in the clinic as Wilson had read Georgia's poem, and his face flushed with fresh shame at the memory. Wilson's soothing words, however gentle and well-intentioned, now seemed to carry a patronizing note in House's memories – as if Wilson hadn't wanted to hurt him by pointing out how unlikely and amusing the prospect of someone else being attracted to him really was.

_He's right,_ House concluded as he headed back toward his office. _What are the chances of anyone else ever wanting me? I'm lucky that _he_ hasn't gotten bored already and moved on to someone else entirely._

And with that thought, a cold, tight sensation of fear took residence in House's heart.

It was only a matter of time before Wilson did just that – lost interest in the novelty of his aging, crippled boyfriend and decided to move on to someone younger, less needy, more attractive. House tried to fight off the sense of impending doom, tried to tell himself that it didn't matter – if Wilson didn't need him, then he didn't need Wilson. If Wilson decided to leave, well – House would be just fine.

But even House knew that it was nothing but a lie.

Sooner or later, Wilson would surely get tired of him – but until that day came, House would do what he could to hold onto him, for as long as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

"Congratulations. Impressive legal argument."

There was amusement in Wilson's voice as he walked with House out of the courtroom, but the amusement was tinged with irritation as well. It seemed that House couldn't go a single week without getting into some kind of trouble – and this was trouble of the worst kind.

"I watched Matlock last night," House explained with a self-satisfied smirk, as he removed the tie Wilson had loaned him for the hearing, apparently unwilling to wear it for a single moment more than necessary.

"Oh, say no more," Wilson retorted with clear sarcasm in his voice. "I didn't notice any clubbing on the judge's fingers."

"Neither did I," House confessed, looking no less self-satisfied for the confession.

Wilson had to admit – only to himself – that he understood House's unwillingness to allow his patient to die, especially considering that he was only dying in the first place due to the treatment House had ordered. However, House's stubborn, rebellious streak that refused to allow him to submit to any sort of conventional authority was getting, quite frankly – well, _old_.

"So, the family history thing…"

House shrugged, no longer bothering to hide his smirk. "Every family has some history of heart disease."

"And mental illness," Wilson reminded him. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly in frustration as he tried to find the right words. "House," he continued at last in a tone of weary patience, "Are you _actually_ out of your mind?"

"Of course not," House scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I know exactly what I'm doing. And besides – it's not like I had a choice, really, did I?"

"You had a choice about messing with his treatment in the first place," Wilson pointed out, his irritation beginning to show in his voice. "If you could have just gotten past your tendency toward obsession and let his _actual doctors_ treat him, you wouldn't be in this mess right now."

"I'm a grown up, Wilson," House reminded him with an impatient sigh. "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah. Have fun taking care of yourself in _jail_."

The humor faded from House's voice as he snapped, "None of your business, Wilson."

Wilson's jaw set with anger at House's words, and his fists clenched at his sides as he fought to restrain his impulse to lash out with equally hurtful words – or worse. Through gritted teeth, he managed to get out his response with remarkable calm and restraint.

"I just… don't want to see you get into trouble, House. That's all."

"Well… then you might want to get out while you can," House replied, his voice softening slightly at the concern in Wilson's voice. "Because I _really _can't see my penchant for doing that going anywhere anytime soon."

Wilson didn't respond, well aware that House spoke the truth. House wasn't likely to stop getting into trouble at any time in the near future. He had been out of control for a long time already, and it seemed to be getting worse lately, with House choosing to disregard not only the rules of the hospital, but the rules of society in general as well.

_And the problem with that is… those rules are called _laws_… and when people break them, they end up in jail. And, well… that just won't do,_ Wilson decided, as an idea began to take shape in his mind. _If House can't keep himself out of trouble, maybe _I'll_ have to do something about that. Maybe it's time for someone to show him just how pathetic his life has actually become…_

******************************

Despite the legal issues with the patient's case and the numerous difficulties that came up during the course of the treatment House wasn't even supposed to have been administering, in the end, as usual – the patient was cured. House had taken a particular interest in this patient, finding that he was able to relate to John Henry Giles and his obsession with his music in a way that he was often unable to relate to other people.

Perhaps that was why he found himself in the lobby of the clinic for no particular reason, just as John Henry was leaving.

"Dr. House!" John Henry sounded very pleased to see him as he approached with the aid of a cane, carrying his trumpet case under one arm. "Cora's meeting me outside with a limo. I'm being discharged."

House smiled, glancing toward the door, popping open his Vicodin bottle and tipping out a pill into his hand as he quipped, "Fifty bucks says I can beat you to the curb."

John Henry laughed, shaking his head slightly before becoming serious, gratitude in his dark, searching eyes. "Thanks for sticking with the case."

House looked away with a dismissive shrug, unable to bear the man's perceptive scrutiny. "I can't do anything else," he admitted as he took the Vicodin in his hand. He swallowed it before observing, "You're much more easily amused when you can walk."

"How bizarre." John Henry's face bore a pensively ironic smile as he looked House over speculatively. "I'm guessing you weren't exactly Mr. Sunshine even before your leg got messed up."

House had no time to think of a response to his observation before John Henry surprised him by placing his trumpet case in House's hands.

"I want you to have this."

Awed, House stared down at the treasured instrument in his hands. "Wow," he murmured, momentarily too stunned by the depth of the gesture to remember to guard his reaction.

"You can sell it if you want to. Just promise me you won't play it," John Henry teased.

House couldn't suppress a smile of gratitude and appreciation as he looked up to meet the other man's gaze. House was so touched by the unexpected gift that John Henry's next words caught him completely off guard.

"How many of those pills you taking?"

House's smile faded completely as he looked away, immediately self-conscious. "I'm in pain."

"Yeah. Aren't we all."

Thankfully, John Henry seemed content to let his concerns go at that, and waved goodbye as he headed out the doors to the waiting limousine. House returned his wave and watched him go for a moment before looking down again at the trumpet, wondering at the generosity of which it spoke.

There was a suspicious burning sensation behind his eyes, a choked feeling of constriction in his throat, and House ducked quickly into an empty exam room, unwilling to allow any evidence of just how much the gift had touched him to be seen by any of the hospital staff. Once he was alone, House set down the trumpet, raising a hand to press his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, physically resisting his unexpectedly emotional reaction.

"So…"

Wilson's voice from the doorway of the exam room startled him, and House spun around to face him, eyes wide and almost guilty. The door was closed already, but Wilson stood leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, a pensive frown creasing his brow.

"… how many of those pills _are_ you taking, House?"

House swallowed convulsively, looking away, a resentful note in his voice as he turned back toward the trumpet, one hand absently stroking the surface of the case.

"None of your business."

An instant later, House felt a warm, strong hand rest possessively on the side of his neck, felt the heat of Wilson's body close behind him. Wilson's voice was low and dark and strangely sultry, when he finally spoke, his warm breath sending an indefinable shiver down House's spine.

"No… no, it's not that easy, House," he declared, his voice full of conviction, despite the fact that it was barely over a whisper. He punctuated his words with a series of light, enticing kisses along House's throat. "See… I love you… and that makes… _you…_ my business."

Wilson stopped, the forefinger of his free hand catching in House's belt loop and tugging House insistently around to face him, so that he was trapped between the exam table behind him, and Wilson's body in front of him. Wilson was smiling, but his dark eyes were almost frighteningly intense as he spoke again in a soft, certain voice.

"_Everything_ about you… is my business."

House swallowed hard, inexplicably aroused despite himself by Wilson's forceful, possessive manner. He closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath, as Wilson's thumb pressed upward under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head backward in a gesture that made him feel unsettlingly vulnerable – and both frightened and titillated at once. With an effort, House opened his eyes again, reaching up a hand of his own to close around Wilson's wrist and slowly, deliberately pull his hand down to rest on the exam table. He met Wilson's dark, questioning gaze with firm resolve as he spoke in a quiet, breathless voice that was still unyielding in its conviction.

"Only… if I decide to… to _make_ it your business. Some things… are still private."

There was a visible tic in Wilson's jaw as it clenched with frustration, and something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes for just a moment before fading away. As purposefully as House had removed it, Wilson returned his hand to cup the side of House's throat, gently, but firmly enough that House tensed under the touch. He raised his hand to push Wilson's away, but this time, Wilson caught his wrist and forced his hand down, taking a step closer to House as he did, moving deliberately into his space.

"There's nothing _private_ about how many Vicodin you've been taking, House," Wilson stated in a quiet, cool tone, tinged with a subtle note of disgust. "I already know the answer to that question – and so does everybody else in this entire _hospital._" Wilson released House so abruptly that he flinched slightly as he fell back against the exam table behind him, then took a step backward away from House, shaking his head slowly in contempt, poorly masked as sympathy.

"_Too _damn many," he muttered with restrained anger and frustration as he turned on his heel and stalked away from a stunned, hurt House, slamming the exam room door behind him.

*************************

Cuddy hardly noticed the sound of her office door opening, glancing up with distracted interest – that swiftly shifted to something resembling alarm when she saw who her visitor was.

"Can I help you?" she asked coolly, casting an instinctive glance over his shoulder toward the busy clinic beyond, for once grateful for the glass walls which were so often so inconveniently annoying.

Wilson's expression was solemn and subdued as he met her eyes before looking down at the floor with an apologetic grimace. He crossed the room at a hesitant pace, gesturing with a questioning hand, waiting for her reluctant nod before taking a seat in the chair across from her desk.

"I… I'm sorry," Wilson blurted out after a long moment of tense, awkward silence. "I just… wanted to tell you that… I'm sorry. For the way… the way I've been acting lately…" He looked up to meet her eyes again with a cautious, level gaze as he concluded, "… about House."

Cuddy swallowed, holding his gaze and trying to measure his intent, resisting the urge to give in completely to the sense of relief she felt at the words, which seemed to indicate that Wilson had somehow come to his senses after a rather disconcerting lapse in judgment.

"Okay," she replied in a cautious, reserved tone. "That's… good."

Wilson shook his head with a sigh of resignation, clearly understanding that more explanation would be required.

"I guess I've just been a little… defensive, about him. It's just that… I'm worried about him, lately. Worried about his… his judgment, and… and I don't want to see him… get hurt, when he's… not thinking clearly, all the time."

Cuddy frowned, puzzled and troubled by Wilson's somewhat rambling words. "What do you mean… not… not thinking clearly? What are you talking about, exactly?"

Wilson held her gaze, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, gauging her reaction as he answered quietly, "I'm talking about… his Vicodin. I think… it's a problem. I think it has been, for a long time now… and it's just getting worse."

Cuddy blinked, taken aback a bit by Wilson's blunt honesty, which only reflected concerns that had been slowly building within her for years. Finally, she allowed her fears over Wilson's stability to fade away into understanding, replaced by the worry for House that he, as his best friend, had clearly developed as well.

"I… I think you're right," she confessed in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. She shook her head, looking down grimly at her desk. "I mean… he violated that patient's DNR… and that's not the first time lately that he's… had a similar… lapse in judgment." She hesitantly echoed Wilson's choice of words as she looked up to meet his eyes again. "I know he has a problem. What I don't know, is… what I can possibly do about it."

Wilson nodded, understanding. "I know what you mean." He hesitated before adding, "But… I think… I have an idea. A way that we can… help him see how bad it's gotten… if you're willing to help me, that is. I can't pull it off on my own."

Cuddy's brow creased slightly, eyes narrowed in a curious frown.

"What exactly did you have in mind?"


	10. Chapter 10

"The twitch could be a mini-seizure, unrelated to the diabetes."

"Brain tumor?"

Wilson glanced away from the conversation between Chase and Cameron for a moment as Foreman entered the conference room, resisting the urge he felt to roll his eyes in irritation.

"Glad you could join us, Eric," House greeted him with sarcastic cheer. "What's the differential for a twitch in the wrist?"

Foreman seemed about as thrilled to see Wilson as Wilson was to see him. He cast a glare in the oncologist's direction as he responded. "The patient's a thirty-ish Jane Doe. I just thought I'd discharge her."

"Well, she's _my_ patient," Wilson snapped. "No harm in a second opinion."

Wilson was terribly frustrated with Foreman, and his sheer refusal to even consider the possibility that Wilson might be right about the nameless homeless woman he had brought to House's attention. As far as Wilson was concerned, Foreman had made an instantaneous decision about the patient, and also about Wilson himself, and his medical and personal judgment.

_Does he think I'm an idiot? That I'm stupid, or something? That I can't tell a genuine symptom when I see it? I've got more experience than he could dream of having – than he'll ever have the chance to get if he doesn't stop looking at me like something he just scraped off the bottom of his shoe…_

Despite Foreman's painfully clear misgivings, the differential continued around him, until he finally blurted out in frustration, "Okay. Why are we on this case? Just because Wilson asked?"

Wilson opened his mouth to protest, indignant, but House spoke before he could.

"Do I need a better reason?"

Foreman glanced between Wilson and House, and suddenly, there was a knowing light in his dark eyes, a slight smirk forming on his lips as understanding seemed to dawn on him. He looked away, shaking his head in amusement, a smirk forming on his lips.

"No, actually, I guess you wouldn't," he conceded with another meaningful glance in Wilson's direction. "I guess these days, that's all it takes to get anything from you."

Wilson felt his stomach lurch with a sick sensation of embarrassment and self-consciousness at the knowing look in Foreman's eyes. Chase and Cameron were frowning with confusion, not quite picking up on the implication of Foreman's words – but it was clear enough to Wilson, and to House as well, judging from the expression of mingled apprehension and anticipation forming on his face.

_He knows… he knows, and if _he_ knows, it won't be long before _others_ know. This needs to be kept a secret. It's nobody's business but ours… but Foreman just can't seem to resist sticking his nose where it doesn't belong…_

Agitated and self-conscious, Wilson stayed in the room just long enough to keep his reasons for leaving from being too obvious. As soon as he could find a reason to do so, he stalked out of the conference room and made his way back to his office to sit and try to think of a solution to the new problem that had just arisen.

************************

"So what exactly is going on with you two?"

The question fell from Foreman's lips a bare instant after Chase and Cameron left the conference room to carry out the tests House had ordered. House was standing with his back to Foreman, pouring a cup of coffee. When he spoke, his words were calm and measured, not betraying any emotion – and therefore betraying far more than he wanted them to reveal.

"What _exactly_ are you implying, Foreman?"

Foreman rose to his feet and moved around the table until he could see House's face, trying to gauge his reaction as he spoke again. "I'm… really not sure. It's just that lately, the two of you seem a bit… _closer_ than usual. Closer even than best friends usually…"

"My personal life is none of your business," House cut him off curtly, taking a sip of his coffee to mask his carefully averted eyes. "And if you want my _professional _life to _continue _to be any of your business, you'll stop prodding into things that have nothing to do with you."

Foreman smirked as he turned and started toward the door. "Yeah," he replied before stepping out into the hall. "That's about what I thought."

**************************

Throughout the rest of the day, it was impossible to miss the mounting tension between Wilson and Foreman every time the patient's case required them to be in the same room. House suspected, however, that he was likely the only one who knew that it had anything to do with anything besides the patient.

_Foreman's figured out that something's going on between us… and Wilson can't stand it. It's so important to him to keep this a secret… and now Foreman's threatening that… threatening _us_… and just when things have been going so well…_

The past few weeks had gone by in a blissful, euphoric haze for House and Wilson. Wilson was quite apologetic for the harsh way he had behaved about House's Vicodin, and seemed to go out of his way afterwards to make it up to House and show him how much he loved him. Miraculously, nothing had happened during that time to cause any new disagreements, and House was utterly unwilling to allow anything to mess things up – not now, when they were finally going so well.

_Why does he even feel the need to keep it a secret at all? I'd willingly tell everyone we're together, but he… he doesn't want to… and if he doesn't want to, and now Foreman knows, he's gonna be in the worst mood known to man…_

House spent the entire day with a tight, anxious knot in the pit of his stomach, trying to focus on the patient and not his insecurities and fears about his relationship with Wilson, or Wilson's insistence upon keeping it a secret. Wilson's obvious irritation only served to feed House's fears, but he tried his best not to allow it to affect his work, or the way he presented himself in front of his employees.

Still, he couldn't help wondering about Wilson's motivations, both for continuing to insist on keeping the secret, and also for asking him to take this particular patient in the first place. The first chance he had to be alone with Wilson, House tried to press for the answers that he craved, hoping to glean some subtle clue from a tone or a look, though he didn't expect Wilson to volunteer anything useful on purpose.

If nothing else, House thought that perhaps he might use the issue of the patient's case to distract Wilson from the deeper issue he had with Foreman at the moment, and possibly ease him out of his foul mood before they made their way home that evening.

"So, you gonna tell me why this case?"

"She's my new girlfriend, and I'm having a tattoo designed. I was hoping you could find out her name."

Sarcasm was no less than House had expected. Unfazed, he pressed in a flat, dubious tone, "So she's just another sick person the kindly Dr. Wilson has made sure doesn't get lost in the big ugly system."

"Yes, I forgot," Wilson snapped. "I need a reason to give a crap."

A twinge of warning told House that he should have stopped then – but as usual, he ignored it. "You're giving _two_ craps."

"House…" Wilson's tone held a warning edge. "… let it go…"

"I just wonder what it is that makes _this_ woman so special…"

"I said _drop it_!" Wilson snapped, raising his voice as he stopped and turned to face House, eyes blazing with anger and frustration, before turning and stalking away from him, visibly seething.

House watched him go in helpless confusion, feeling the knot of uncertainty and insecurity tightening in his stomach, as he wondered what he had done wrong this time, why such a small thing could make Wilson so angry with him – and how much more it would take before Wilson would become frustrated and angry enough to write him off entirely.

***********************

Wilson seemed to be avoiding House for the hours that followed. In fact, it was quite by accident that he happened to run into House in an empty exam room later that day, having fully expected him to be overseeing the two young medical students Cuddy had foisted off on him for educational purposes.

House tried to act as if the way Wilson had spoken to him and treated him in the hall earlier – the way he had walked away from him without a second glance – meant nothing to him. He tried to maintain his usual cool, detached façade; but Wilson could clearly see the aching vulnerability in his eyes as he studied Wilson's face, seeking some subtle sign of reassurance.

Wilson couldn't withhold it from him – not completely.

He reluctantly stayed a few minutes, as House explained how he was hiding from his two too-eager pupils in order to study Foreman's file and try to discern the source of his apparent hatred for the homeless. Wilson had to suppress a smile at that, well aware that House's pointing out an obvious flaw of Foreman's was a blatant attempt to use Wilson's current irritation with Foreman to procure Wilson's favor again. He kept his tone sternly tolerant as he gently scolded House with a weary sigh.

"You really don't need to know everything about everybody."

"I don't _need_ to watch _The OC_, but it makes me happy."

"Yeah, delirious." Wilson frowned with curiosity as he glanced down at the exam table on which House was working. "What's the other file?"

House glanced up at him, a trapped look of guilt in his eyes, and immediately tried to shift the second file under Foreman's to conceal it. Wilson took a quick step forward and snatched it out of House's hand, turning away when House tried to grab it back. He blinked in surprise when he saw his own name on the label, then looked back at House in accusation.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice low and demanding.

"I just… wanted to know what _your _personal stake in this situation might be, since, clearly, this _isn't _just another patient to you."

Fully aware that he was caught, House explained, still trying to keep his tone light and unconcerned – and failing miserably. He tensed as Wilson took an angry step closer to him, waving the file wildly in his hand as he spoke in a quiet but intense voice, his words clipped and furious.

"You were _spying_ on me? I can't believe you would _do_ something like that!"

"Then you don't know me very well, do you?"

"House, this is _not_ funny!" Wilson's voice was trembling with suppressed rage as he slammed the file down on the table in front of House, leaving his clenched fist resting there so that he was leaning into House's face. "Some things about me are _not _your business! Some things are just personal!"

"Oh, so _you're _the only one who gets to have secrets?" House shot back, clear resentment in his blazing, defiant eyes. "I get to _be_ your dirty little secret – but I can't _have_ any of my own. And yet, when it's something _you_ don't want _me_ to know, well, that's just fine!"

"No, I _don't_ want you to know!" Wilson burst out, his voice raised in fury as he slammed his fist down on the exam table with enough force to make House flinch at the impact. House started to back away from the intensity and nearness of Wilson's verbal attack, but Wilson grabbed his arm and jerked him back close to him, nearly yelling in his face as he shook him slightly, "Because it has nothing to _do _with you! It's _none _of your business, House. _I'll_ decide how much I want you to know about me and when, and you will keep _the hell out_ of my personal affairs!"

House winced slightly at the painful grip on his arm, staring into Wilson's eyes with shock at the violence of his reaction. After a moment, the fury began to fade from Wilson's face as he seemed to realize the severity of his own actions. House's pager began to beep, and House slowly, numbly looked down at where it lay on the table before pointedly pulling his arm out of Wilson's grip and sliding his chair backwards, picking up the pager and putting it in his pocket.

Wilson hung his head, still leaning over the table, with a heavy sigh of defeat.

"House…" he attempted weakly as House headed for the door, knowing already that House would not respond or return.

House avoided Wilson as much as possible for the rest of the day, shying away from any opportunity they might have had to talk about what had happened, making sure that he was constantly surrounded by his team so that Wilson would not have the chance to corner him and apologize. When the case forced them to be in the same room together, House was cool and withdrawn with Wilson, refusing to meet his eyes or speak with him about anything not directly related to the case.

That was why later that night, when Wilson was sitting alone in the last spot where he had seen his missing brother, he was stunned to see House approach him and silently take a seat beside him on the concrete overhang. Both men were silent for a long time, both aware that there was much that needed to be said between them, but neither quite sure where to begin.

House, as was often the case, was the first to speak, and with harsh honesty.

"I'm not sure I even want to be talking to you right now."

Wilson glanced up at him before shrugging slightly. His hands pressed into his pockets in feigned disinterest, he observed flatly, "You picked a kind of inconvenient place to go to _not _talk to me, then."

"You had no right to talk to me the way you did today," House stated quietly. "Or to… to touch me that way. No right whatsoever."

Wilson was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his words seemed to bear no relevance to House's statement.

"I have two brothers."

House frowned, puzzled by the shift in the conversation, as well as by the new information. "I've met your family. I only met one brother. Why wouldn't you tell me…?"

"It was irrelevant."

"Why?" House demanded, shaking his head.

"Because he's not in my life anymore," Wilson answered, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and some other indiscernible emotion. "This was the last place I saw him, nine years ago. I don't even know if he's alive."

House stared at Wilson for a long moment, taking in his tear-filled, downcast eyes, the slight shaking of his huddled shoulders, and the trembling of his lower lip before he bit it to still it. He said nothing, simply considering Wilson's words, weighing their importance, and waiting for Wilson to go on – because he was clearly not finished.

At last, Wilson looked up at House, tentatively reaching out a hand to rest on his leg. House tensed slightly at the touch, remembering the much less gentle way that Wilson had touched him last time – but he did not pull away. Wilson urgently sought House's gaze, waiting until House reluctantly looked him in the eye to speak again in a low, trembling, utterly repentant voice.

"I know I had no right to talk to you that way, House – and no right to – to hurt you. I'm _so sorry_. But… but seeing that woman today… Victoria… and knowing… knowing how damned _eager_ Foreman was to just… just _dismiss_ her and send her back out on the street to _die_…"

Wilson shook his head, lowering his gaze to his lap as he struggled for composure, then looking up again, his face streaked with tears as he shifted closer to House.

"All I could think about was my brother, and… and wondering if he… if he's all right, or… or sick… or out of his mind with some… some drug or disease or…" Wilson's voice failed him momentarily, and he swallowed back a sob before struggling forward. "I'm sorry, House. It had nothing to do with you, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you, but… but I just couldn't… couldn't take it… couldn't stand the… the wondering, and the helplessness, and… I'm sorry…"

Wilson's shoulders shook as fresh sobs overcame him, and he added in a desperate, desolate whisper, "I'm just _so sorry_, House…"

House sat there for a long moment, watching Wilson's tears, torn between his desire to hold his ground and make it clear to Wilson that he did not take lightly his earlier actions – and his need to reach out and let Wilson know that he was forgiven, and understood, and _loved_.

For once, _Wilson_ needed _him_ – and it was a feeling that House found himself wanting desperately to hold onto.

With an awkwardness born of inexperience, House cautiously reached out a hand to rest on Wilson's shoulder, allowing his other arm to slide around Wilson's waist and urge him gently closer. Wilson gratefully complied, resting his head on House's shoulder as his tears consumed him; and House raised a halting, uncertain hand to rest on the back of Wilson's head… and then to slowly, gently run through his hair.

"It's okay," he whispered at last, his own voice thick with emotions he couldn't quite define. "It's okay, Wilson… it's okay…"


	11. Chapter 11

Cuddy found herself hard-pressed to keep pace with House, despite his limp, as he stalked away from the elevator toward his office, clearly determined to evade her – and the lecture she was in the middle of giving. However, she had no intention whatsoever of backing down, not this time.

Wilson had advised her to wait for the right opportunity – and this appeared to be just such an opportunity.

House's reaction to a simple hour's wait for his Vicodin made his drug problem more obvious than ever to her, and she was determined to do _something_ to get House to face his addiction. She followed the basic script Wilson had suggested as she followed House to his office doorway.

"You can't go a week without your drugs."

"No, I don't _want_ to go a week without the drugs. It'll hurt." Cuddy tried to keep arguing her point, but House finally brushed her off with a curt, dismissive, "Well, I guess we'll never know."

Cuddy had no intention of letting it go at that. "I'll give you a week off clinic duty if you can go a week off narcotics."

"No way!" House objected, a sarcastic grin on his face. "I _love_ the clinic."

"You love the pills," Cuddy corrected without hesitation. "Two weeks."

"The pills don't make me high. They make me neutral…"

"A month."

A whole month off clinic duty proved to be bait too enticing for House to resist. Cuddy walked away triumphant, the Vicodin bottle safely in her possession. A few yards down the hall, just out of sight of House's office, Wilson fell into step beside her, eager expectation in his eyes.

"Well?" His voice was hushed and secretive, though there was no chance of House overhearing them. "How'd it go?"

"He bought it, completely. Agreed to go a week without the pills. If all goes according to plan, then no more than one week from today he'll have to face the fact that he's addicted and it's definitely affecting his behavior."

Wilson nodded with thoughtful satisfaction as they reached his office, and stopped at the door to finish their conversation. "Good," he said quietly. "Hopefully, this will help him to realize that he needs help."

As Cuddy walked away toward the elevators, Wilson watched her go for a moment before retreating into his office, his mind spinning with the various, glorious possibilities that this drug-free week for House might bring.

_He'll see how out of control he's gotten… realize that he needs help, all right – _my_ help. Maybe he'll learn to _appreciate_ my concern, and stop constantly pushing me away… constantly trying to subvert my every attempt to help him. By the time this week is over, he'll see that _I'm_ the only one who's really there for him. And as for Cuddy, he won't want anything more to do with her – _ever_. _

***************************

"How long has it been?"

Wilson's tone was deceptively mild as House limped heavily past him, headed back toward the shelter of his empty office. House barely acknowledged him, not even looking at him, and not slowing his pace.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Wilson turned toward House, watching as he walked away, and called out, "Are you sure this is worth it?"

House did not bother to respond, and Wilson sighed wearily, momentarily considering the answer to his own question, as his friend disappeared around the corner. House was not looking well at the moment. He had broken out in a cold sweat, his appearance more disheveled than usual, and his limp seemed more pronounced than usual.

When House's team left the patient's room to report the latest development to their boss, Wilson decided to accompany them. He wanted to keep an eye on House, make sure that he was all right – and that everything was going according to plan. House seemed irritated by Wilson's presence, well aware that the oncologist had no valid medical reason to take part in the differential; but he did not insist that Wilson leave, so Wilson spent as much of his day as possible as close as possible to House.

Of course, the dictates of his own job required Wilson to be away from House for at least a small portion of the day – and it was during that brief increment of time that House managed to do far more physical damage to himself than Wilson had anticipated.

When House showed up in Wilson's office, his hand a horrifying purple-black color and oozing blood from the broken places in the skin, Wilson immediately understood the reasons for House's actions, even if he could only guess at the specifics of how he had shattered his hand so brutally.

"This is _not _worth it," Wilson muttered, concern mingled with anger in his voice as he focused his attention on treating the badly broken hand. "Just to prove your point to Cuddy? House – why does her opinion matter so much, anyway? Who cares what she thinks? She's playing a twisted, mean-spirited game with you – and you're playing right into her hand."

"Yeah, well, if she is," House replied, his own gaze intently focused on what Wilson was doing to his hand, "I'm still gonna win."

"I just… hate to see you in this much pain, House," Wilson murmured as he finished wrapping the hand and laid it gently down on the exam table, looking up at last to meet House's eyes. "It's not worth it." He paused a moment, reaching up a hand to tenderly touch House's cheek as he added pointedly, "_She's_ not worth it."

"It's not… not _about_ her," House confessed softly, looking away. "I'm not… not an addict. The pain is the problem – not the pain management."

"Yeah, well… maybe so. But she's trying to make this out to look otherwise," Wilson warned him softly. "You shouldn't play her game – shouldn't let her get to you like this. She's trying to humiliate you, and I don't think you should let…"

The exam room door opened abruptly, and Wilson swiftly dropped his hand from House's face, as both men turned expectantly to see Cuddy stalking angrily into the room.

"Why did you tell Cameron to lie to Mr. Foster?"

"Excuse me."

Wilson quietly dismissed himself from the conversation, rising to his feet and giving House a meaningful look as he headed out the door – but not going far. Wilson waited just outside the exam room, wincing slightly with embarrassment for House as he realized that, from his spot near the door, he could just barely make out Cuddy's furious, words, as she berated House, accusing him of allowing his withdrawal from the Vicodin to affect his behavior with the patient and his family.

Verbally, House held his own; but when he stepped out of the exam room, mere moments after Cuddy stalked angrily away, Wilson could clearly see the weary, defeated expression in his bright, pain-filled eyes. Without a word, Wilson took House's arm and began to lead him down the hall toward the elevators.

House put up a token protest, but seemed too thoroughly exhausted and distracted by his pain to resist much. Wilson remained firm, maintaining his gentle grip on House's arm until they had reached Wilson's office, and the door was securely locked behind them.

"What do you think you're doing?" House demanded, though the irritation in his voice sounded forced, as if he was secretly grateful for the enforced escape, but unwilling to admit it.

Wilson's voice was warm with compassion, yet softly commanding.

"Take off your clothes and lie down on the couch."

House raised a single eyebrow in Wilson's direction. "Why? Just what do you think you're going to do?"

Wilson gave a soft, mysterious smile as he sidled slowly nearer to House, until he could place his hands gently on House's hips, fingertips trailing idly along the line of his jeans as he answered with subtle suggestion in his voice.

"I'm going to help you manage your pain."

House finally returned his smile, despite the obvious pain in the lines of his haggard face. He offered no resistance as Wilson slowly, gently unfastened his jeans, unbuttoned his shirt, and let them fall to the floor in a forgotten heap. Wilson led House by the hand to the sofa, and helped him to lie down on his back and get as comfortable as possible.

Working slowly upward from House's feet, to his muscled calves, then finally, gradually, toward the aching source of his suffering, Wilson proceeded to administer a slow, soothing massage. There was a sensual patience in his every measured, lingering touch – but nothing in Wilson's actions or demeanor suggested that he expected any kind of reciprocation for the relief he was offering.

There was nothing but tenderness and concern in Wilson's voice as he worked over House's body with protective, gentle focus.

"I just… can't stand to see you hurting like this, House," he murmured as he slid his hands slowly, gently, up the sides on House's bare, quivering thighs. "I love you… and I just… just want to help you… want to make this… easier for you… if you're determined to go through with it. There's no shame in giving in, you know…"

"I'm not…" House's words were interrupted by a low groan as Wilson's fingers kneaded into the aching muscle above his scar. "… not an addict…"

Wilson allowed his hands to slide up to House's hips, leaning down over him to press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips, before reminding him softly, "I never said you were."

**************************

The effects of the massage – and the accompanying blow job with which Wilson followed it up – seemed to last House for a little while. His pain was somewhat eased, and he managed to function a little better for close to an hour after that. Eventually, however, he found himself longing for the relief of his pills once more.

And when a frustrated Foreman handed him a bottle of Vicodin – that longing became an almost irresistible temptation.

House didn't take any of the Vicodin – not yet. He couldn't bring himself to admit the truth of how desperately he needed the pills – even to himself. He placed the bottle in his pocket, carrying it with him as he continued to work on diagnosing his patient, ever aware of the constant weight of its presence.

Still, somehow, he managed to resist, through the patient's final, correct diagnosis, and the long, empty hours that followed it as he waited for the end of the week he had promised Cuddy to arrive.

The time just before the week was ended found House sitting alone in his office, eyes locked onto the clock in front of him, wrestling with himself even in those last moments as to whether or not to just go ahead and open the tiny, tempting bottle in his pocket.

_No. You can do this. You said a week, and you can go a week. Come on, don't let her do this to you… don't let her humiliate you like that. You can show her that you're _not _an addict… not pathetic and dependent and…_

The thought cut off abruptly as the numbers on the clock switched to the next minute, and House was blissfully, blessedly free of his week-long, self-imposed self-denial. He tried not to think about the way his hand was violently shaking, so hard that he struggled to open the bottle in front of him. He swore softly under his breath, for one awful moment thinking he might cry from sheer frustration, as he fought with the cruel piece of plastic in his hand – until it was suddenly swept from his hand, caught in someone else's.

Wilson's.

House hadn't even noticed Wilson come in.

He let out a soft, frustrated sound of protest that was somewhere between a growl and a whimper as he reached for the bottle – but Wilson was standing, and House lacked the strength to do so at the moment, his leg screaming in agony even from his seated position behind his desk. Wilson easily kept the bottle away from him, looking down at him in sorrowful, sympathetic scrutiny.

"Give it to me," House mumbled the demand, reaching for the Vicodin again – to no avail.

Wilson ignored his words, reaching his free hand down to gently brush across the bruised place on House's jaw, where the patient's father had punched him. Wilson's voice was soft, wondering, and sad.

"Why did you do this to yourself, House?"

"I don't know," House snapped, his hand twitching impatiently, his eyes locked onto the slight motion of the bottle in Wilson's hand. "Suddenly I just got the impulse to punch myself in the face, so I…."

"You know what I'm talking about." Wilson's voice was unusually patient and gentle, as he easily blocked another attempt by House to get at the pills, catching House's wrist and holding it as he stepped in closer to the older man. "You have a problem, House. You have to know that by now."

"No," House objected stubbornly, looking away for just a moment before his eyes were drawn helplessly to the Vicodin bottle again. "No, I… I made it a week…"

"Yeah. One week. And look at you," Wilson pointed out. "Look how badly you need these – how desperate you are. You're an addict, House."

"No…"

"Yes, you are. Admit it."

"_No. _Give me my damn pills, Wilson…"

House lunged for the pills again, but Wilson easily kept them away from him, leaning in close to his face to reiterate emphatically.

"You want them? _Admit it_."

Desperate, the fiery agony in his leg intensified by the terrible nearness of the relief Wilson was withholding, House made one final, desperate attempt to get at the pills, before allowing his shoulders to slump in defeat, his hand still held up by Wilson's, now limp and unresisting in his firm grasp.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay…"

"Okay, what?" Wilson pressed.

"Okay, I'm… I'm…"

Wilson waited in patient silence, releasing House's hand to grasp the pill bottle in both hands, visibly preparing to open it. However, he didn't open it, just waited expectantly for the required confession. House met his eyes for a moment, silently pleading for mercy, not to be forced to verbally accept the truth – but Wilson's expression was unyielding. House looked away, his voice hoarse and thick with shame when at last he spoke again.

"I'm an addict."

"Oh, House…" Wilson's voice was soft with anguished understanding, as he swiftly relented and knelt on the floor in front of House's chair, twisting open the pill bottle and shaking two of them into House's waiting, trembling hand. "I know… I know…"

House dry-swallowed the pills, nearly frantic with the urgency of his need – then allowed his head to fall forward into his damp, shaking hands, closing his eyes with the expectation of soon-coming relief. His shoulders shook with dry, silent sobs of relief and frustration and defeat – and Wilson gently wrapped his arms around him, pulling his unresisting form close and holding him, rocking slightly.

"It doesn't matter," Wilson whispered, pressing a tender kiss into House's damp, disheveled hair. "It doesn't matter, House. I love you. I just… just can't stand to see you hurting."

Wilson drew back, his hands cupping House's face and forcing him to meet his eyes, as he continued in a voice of fervent, intense affection.

"I will _always_ be here for you, House – no matter what. I love you for who you are – and that means every flaw and weakness, as well as every strength. The Vicodin – it doesn't matter to me. I just don't want to see you in pain. I never want to see you hurting like this, never again. This whole thing was just – just _cruel_. She never should have put you through this, House – never should have forced you to go without it for so long…"

In his pain-induced confusion, combined with the haze of blissful relief the pills were gradually creating within him, House didn't register the blatant contradiction of Wilson's words and actions. He collapsed gratefully into Wilson's steadying arms as they wrapped around him again, resting his head on Wilson's shoulder as a warm, strong hand ran slowly, soothingly through his hair.

"It's all right…"

Wilson's warm, soft voice rumbling in his ear filled House with a nearly euphoric sense of safety and security, as the medication eased his physical suffering, the effects of both mingling in House's mind until they were nearly indistinguishable, and lending an indelible weight of truth and meaning to Wilson's quiet, simple words of reassurance.

"… it's all right, House. I'm right here… and everything's all right…"


	12. Chapter 12

"I scored." House held out the mysterious sealed envelope across his desk toward Wilson, then tossed it down within the other man's reach. "It's a brave new world, Doc, and we are at the cutting edge. You are looking at two all-access passes to paradise itself!"

Wilson stared with unguarded awe at the virtually priceless slips of paper in the envelope, his jaw slack with amazement before he remembered to close his mouth, swallowing slowly before venturing to ask the question that filled his mind.

"How much?"

"True cost, no man can say."

Wilson's lips twisted into the beginnings of a grin as he replied, "Could that man's accountant say?"

He couldn't hide his affectionate amusement at the expression on House's face – eager and excited and subtly vulnerable. House was trying to conceal how much this gesture meant to him, how important it was to him to do this for his friend-turned-lover, whom he knew loved monster trucks as much as he did, but would never have spent that much of his own money on something he would consider so frivolous.

Wilson had always suspected that, beneath House's harsh, emotionless façade beat the heart of a hopeless romantic; and a gesture like this – well, it was just about as romantic a thing as House could have done for Wilson. It was an extravagant gift, making no secret of how willing House was to lavish every last shred of his affection, energy, and worldly resources on the man that he loved – even if he hadn't yet allowed himself the vulnerability to actually _say_ so.

"One thousand dollars. Friday night – the biggest official monster truck jam in the history of New Jersey."

Wilson's heart sank, even as it thrilled to the joy of knowing how far House was willing to go to make him happy.

_And I'm going to have to turn him down…_

Genuine horror on his face, Wilson looked up from the tickets to meet House's eyes. "Okay… _please_ tell me you didn't just say Friday night."

"Whatever you've got, you cancel."

House's tone was casual, but as he spoke he looked away, and despite his attempts to conceal his emotions, Wilson could immediately read the disappointment and resignation forming in his eyes. Wilson's heart sank with the understanding that regardless of the token protest he was making, House already expected to be rejected – and Wilson was going to have to meet those expectations.

"I-I can't do it," he admitted. "I-I've got the oncology thing. The rectal cancer lecture – they booked me a year ago! I-I-I can't get out; there's no way out!"

"Fine. Okay. Another time, then." House turned away from Wilson to focus on some imaginary work on his desk.

They were both well aware that "another time" would not come around for an event this amazing – not within the next twenty years, anyway. Wilson sighed, lowering his head in mingled guilt and disappointment.

"I'm sorry, House," he said gently, leaning forward to rest his hand over House's restlessly tapping fingertips, momentarily stilling them. "I wish I could. You know I want to, but…" He shook his head, his voice trailing off as he sighed again. "Maybe you should just… ask someone else."

House looked up at him sharply, a spark of suspicion in his eyes.

After all, they both knew that there _was _no one else.

But House saw nothing but genuine regret in Wilson's dark, expressive eyes. Finally, House's shoulders fell as he relented, turning his hand under Wilson's to momentarily return the gentle caress, before glancing self-consciously toward the hall beyond his office and reluctantly withdrawing his hand.

"Okay," he agreed quietly. "I will."

Wilson knew that House would find no one else to accompany him to the show. His words were a meaningless suggestion of sympathy, which served the dual purpose of subtly reminding House just how important Wilson had become in his life – reaffirming the fact that there was no one else to whom he could turn as a friend or companion.

Despite that slight benefit, however, Wilson was genuinely disappointed that he would not be able to go with House to the monster truck show. He enjoyed monster trucks nearly as much as House did, and the trouble House had gone to alone made him feel terrible for having to turn him down.

But it could not be helped.

_After all… I'm doing this for him… for_ us_…_

For a few weeks now, House's ex-girlfriend Stacey had been calling Wilson, going on and on about her husband, who was ill, and how she had been considering coming to Princeton-Plainsboro to get House's opinion.

Wilson was certain that was not her only motivation.

So far, he had managed to talk her out of it, convincing her that House would never consent to see her at all, much less to treat her husband. House was still resentful and angry over the way she had treated him in the past – the way she had betrayed him and eventually walked out on him – and, quite frankly, wanted nothing to do with her.

Of course, she believed him completely. She had no reason not to. Wilson had made a point of maintaining a casual communication with her ever since her breakup with House. After all, if there was ever a time when she realized the mistake she had made and wanted to try to unmake it – as it appeared she was considering now – Wilson wanted to be the first to know about it, and have the opportunity to head her off before she could succeed.

"_Keep your enemies closer" and all that… Well, it seems to be working so far… and when I meet with her on Friday, I'll make sure it _keeps _working. I don't want her anywhere near House. He's mine now… and she'll just have to deal with that._

*****************************

It was not really surprising to House, but strangely troubling, to realize that there really was no one besides Wilson who he could think of asking to go with him. Gradually, throughout the day, the knowledge that his world had narrowed to contain only one other human being to whom he was meaningful and valuable wore on him, until he decided that he simply _had _to find someone to go with him to the show.

It was that, or admit to himself that he really _was_ as pathetic as he was beginning to suspect that he was.

During a rather distracted conversation with Cameron regarding the point at which human life began, House began to consider asking her to go with him. After all, she was sickeningly sweet, annoyingly caring, with a sense of guilty responsibility that made even Wilson roll his eyes in response to it.

In short, she was the furthest thing from House's type imaginable – and therefore a safe choice, unlikely to arouse Wilson's jealousy.

_You'd think the fact that I'm in a serious relationship with a _man_ would give him a clue that I'm not exactly into chasing women right now. But Cameron – he'd have to be out of his mind to think that I'd actually date her. She _should_ be perfectly_ _safe… but… but Wilson _does_ tend to get jealous _really_ easily these days…_

"So. Big weekend planned?" he asked casually, testing the waters, though he hadn't quite decided yet whether he intended to dive in.

Cameron froze, turning a puzzled, suspicious frown in his direction. He suppressed a smile at her reaction, well aware of how unusual it was for him to actually show an interest in the personal life of any of his employees. Her words were slow, cautious, when she finally ventured a response.

"Not really. I… was gonnago to the oncology dinner…"

"Of course," House sighed, his heart sinking again – not because Cameron had plans, but at the reminder of _Wilson's_ plans. "You have to hear Wilson's lecture."

"No. I just found out he canceled like, two weeks ago."

House blinked, stunned but trying not to let it show, as he slowly processed the implications of her words. He tried to fight back the cold sense of hurt he felt at the knowledge that Wilson had lied to him – and apparently in order to get out of going to something he ordinarily would have been eager to see. A thoughtful frown creased House's brow as he wondered what Wilson was up to, what could possibly be both so important and such a secret that he would feel the need to lie.

_Maybe he's got a perfectly valid reason… or maybe he's seeing someone else…_

The nasty, creeping thought filled House with a sense of insecurity – mingled with rising anger and indignation.

_Fine. Forget him. I'll go where I want, with whoever I want._

"Did you… have a question?"

Cameron's voice was hesitant, uncertain, a puzzled frown on her face as she stood in the doorway ready to leave, but awaiting House's response. House studied her face for a long moment, indulging in one final moment of internal debate, before finally making his decision, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Yeah. Do you like monster trucks?"

****************************

By the end of the evening, House had to reluctantly admit that he had actually had a surprisingly good time with Cameron. She had never even seen a monster truck before, but she quite easily got into the excitement and adrenaline of the show, and before it was over was cheering loudly right along with House at the appearances of his favorites.

Every now and then, House caught her casting an awkwardly long glance in his direction, or focusing a little too intently on him, instead of the show; but he did his best to ignore it, choosing to enjoy the evening rather than to allow her obviously developing crush to ruin it for him. He tried to shut out her unintentional flirtations, as well as his suspicions about Wilson's whereabouts and choice of activities for the evening – his _lies_ – and simply enjoy the show.

And he _mostly_ succeeded.

When he arrived home that evening to find Wilson waiting on the couch, blankly staring at the television with the sound turned down, House felt his good mood fade away, his hurt and suspicion returning with a vengeance. He was silent, meeting Wilson's eyes for a moment before looking away as he took off his coat and hung it up. He waited until he had turned back toward the couch, carefully gauging Wilson's reaction when at last he spoke in a soft, cool voice.

"Where were you tonight?"

A flash of understanding in Wilson's eyes revealed that he knew House had somehow found out about his deception – at least in part. A momentarily trapped, self-conscious expression gave way almost instantly to angry defiance as Wilson rose to his feet, moving in swift, fluid strides across the room until he was only a foot away from where House stood.

"I think a better question might be who were you _with_ tonight, House?"

"No." House shook his head emphatically, his jaw set stubbornly. "No, you are _not_ going to turn this around on me. You _lied_ to me, Wilson. You told me where you were going to be and what you were going to be doing, and none of it was true. On the other hand, you knew _exactly_ what my plans were for tonight – so you are _not_ the one who has a right to be suspicious, here. You…"

House's indignant words broke off abruptly, the breath driven from his lungs, as Wilson suddenly caught his arms and slammed him, hard, into the wall beside the door. Stunned and in pain from the blow, House bit back a cry, closing his eyes in an instinctive reaction to the unexpected violence. Wilson's right hand stayed fastened around House's arm in a painfully tight grip, his left hand rising to seize House's hair and yank his head back as his voice lowered to a seething, furious hiss.

"You do not have the right to make these ridiculous accusations, just because I chose to keep a secret from you, House. I am _not_ the one who spent tonight out with some _slut_ who wants to get me into bed!"

"It wasn't like that," House insisted, grinding out the words in frustration as he strained to push against Wilson's restraining hands. "It wasn't a date. We just went as friends…"

"She… _wants_ you, House," Wilson cut him off with cold, possessive anger, moving in even further into House's space. "Don't tell me you don't know that."

House was silent, swallowing hard, unable to deny the truth of the statement.

Wilson swore softly under his breath, looking away, his hands tightening as he struggled visibly against his own jealous fury. House struggled against him, trying to push him away, to pull free of the painful grip of the hands that held him pinned against the wall.

"Stop it, Wilson," he muttered. "You don't know what you're talking about. I didn't know when I asked her, and you _said_ I should…"

"_Shut up_!"

Wilson snarled as he shoved House against the wall again, causing him to gasp in pain at the impact. Before House could resist again, Wilson slid in closer to him, his leg against House's holding him back, not allowing him the room he needed to try to maneuver away. House drew in a sharp breath of alarm as he felt Wilson's left thigh pressed against his right, tensing in anticipation of pain. He couldn't be sure whether Wilson was aware of what he was doing – but it was enough to make him go still, unwilling to find out what Wilson might do if he continued to struggle.

Wilson smiled in cold approval when House went still, his hand softening slightly in House's hair, his voice low and intent and deceptively gentle as he continued to speak.

"_I'm_ talking right now, House. And I'm telling you how this looks from _my_ perspective – okay?"

House nodded automatically, eyes closed, swallowing hard. Wilson's behavior was definitely alarming – frightening, even. And yet, House wasn't completely sure that he did not deserve Wilson's anger. He had known from the start that Wilson would not be thrilled by his choice of Cameron for his companion that evening.

House's head was pounding from the impact with the wall, his heart racing with fear. The claustrophobic sensation of Wilson's body pressing, restraining his own, mingled with the dazed effect of too many blows to the head, resulted in a sort of confused compliance that kept him quiet and still, listening as Wilson went on in a soft, scathing tone of quiet anger and disgust.

"I don't _have_ to tell you everything. I have a right to _some_ privacy. And tonight, I was not cheating on you. I was not on some secret date. I had something I had to do – something to make things better for _us_, House. And it wasn't fun, or even remotely pleasant. I much rather would have been with you at the monster truck rally. But I _chose_ to do what I had to do to make things better for us – for _you_. And what were you doing while I was making that sacrifice?"

Wilson's hands and tone both hardened as he continued, biting off the words with bitter resentment.

"You were out spending a _thousand freaking dollars_ on a woman who would love to have you for herself. I'm sure you had a great time, laughing and talking and living it up on what should have been a very special occasion for _us_ – but you chose to take _her_ – to _punish_ me. Didn't you, House?"

House opened his mouth to protest – then stopped, biting his lip instead, an uncertain frown on his face.

_Had_ he done it to punish Wilson? He wasn't sure. He did know that he hadn't really decided to take Cameron until she had revealed Wilson's lie to him. He had been angry and suspicious of Wilson, and decided suddenly that he didn't care what Wilson thought about his choice; he was going to do what he wanted to do.

Which indicated that he _had_ known ahead of time that Wilson wouldn't approve of his going with Cameron.

House shook his head slightly in confusion and uncertainty.

"You took Cameron just to hurt me." Wilson's voice had lowered to a whisper, his hands softening on House's arm and hair until they were no longer restraining – just _there_. "You knew I wouldn't want to think of the two of you there, together, without me – so you decided to ask her. That's really great, House – really shows me what you think of me. How much I _mean_ to you."

"I… I'm sorry," House whispered almost automatically, his eyes lowered in shame, not quite daring to meet Wilson's accusing gaze.

Wilson was quiet and still for a moment, before abruptly releasing House completely, taking a step backward, leaving the older man leaning against the wall, struggling to catch his breath, to recover from the intensity of the frightening encounter. Wilson's voice was soft, carrying a note of disappointment and defeat.

"Damn right, you are."

With those cold, dismissive words, Wilson turned his back and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

"Need a consult."

House barely glanced at the patient Wilson was examining, peering around the exam room door in impatient expectation as he waited for Wilson's response. It was not long in coming, but it was disappointing. Wilson's voice was cool, detached, as if he might have been speaking to any of his other dozens of coworkers.

"With a patient."

"Urgent doctor stuff."

House persisted, his tone light and playful, though his stomach was churning with the cold, sick feeling of apprehension created by Wilson's cold, uncaring tone. He held his head high, turning and striding out of the room with an expectant, confident air, as if he fully expected that Wilson would follow, as he had done dozens of times before; but for the first time, he was not certain that Wilson would do so.

And for the first time – Wilson didn't.

The clear rejection stung, but House found that he could not bring himself to simply walk away and accept it. He turned back toward the exam room, opening the door again and going inside this time.

"What, urgent doctor stuff means nothing to you?" he said in a lightly accusing tone. "Someone could be dying while you're standing here wasting time on a… what was wrong with you again?" He addressed the confused patient with a puzzled, distracted frown.

"Unexplained shortness of breath and bleeding from my…um…" The patient allowed his voice to trail off, looking away in awkward embarrassment.

"Okay, so you might be dying, too," House conceded with a careless shrug, ignoring the patient's startled look of alarm. "Someone _else_ could be dying. I need you, Wilson."

"Well, I _don't_ need _you_, House," Wilson replied in a calm, even voice, without even glancing at House. "I told you, I'm busy. Please _go away_ now."

House blinked, but tried not to show how deeply Wilson's words stung. He squared his shoulders, his jaw clenching with repressed anger born of his hurt, as he made one last valiant effort.

"So you're going to take a chance on my patient dying while you're wasting time with someone who's – _not_ my patient – just because you're mad at me right now? That's hardly very ethical of you, is it, Dr. Wilson?"

"I'm not wasting time, House," Wilson replied, his tone betraying no emotional reaction to House's accusation. "And I'm not doing it because I'm mad at you." Finally, Wilson met House's eyes for a moment – and the cold, detached look in his dark eyes made House's heart ache with loneliness and disappointment. "I'm doing it because a.) I'm pretty sure you'll figure it out just fine without me; and b.)… because I _really_ don't like you very much at the moment, House, and I have no desire to waste any of my valuable time on you. Now please get out."

Even Wilson's patient, who had every reason to be irritated with House, gave a sympathetic grimace at Wilson's harsh words, looking down uncomfortably and avoiding eye contact with either doctor.

House felt his face flaming with the humiliation of Wilson' public rejection, and he stared down at the floor for a long moment, swallowing hard as he processed what had just happened, then nodded once in silent resignation. Without another word of protest, he turned and walked out of the exam room, leaving Wilson to his patient.

_I've blown it completely. He hates me now. He hasn't spoken to me since last night – and he doesn't seem likely to do so in the near future. It's over. I've lost him. I knew I would eventually; I just… thought it would take a little longer than this. It's really… _really_ over._

Feeling dejected and hurt and utterly alone, House trudged toward his office, for once deliberately focusing on the pain in his throbbing leg as a blessed distraction from the swelling ache building in his chest.

******************************

Though it never quite eclipsed the cold sensation of loss in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought of Wilson, and his absence in the otherwise ordinary routine of his day, it became gradually easier throughout the day for House to focus on his ever more painful leg.

He had spent the night on the couch – not because Wilson had refused to share the bed with him, but because he had not been able to bring himself to venture into the bedroom after Wilson's angrily fuming retreat. Rather than risk facing Wilson's wrath – or worse, the simple cold disgust that had been the last look in his dark eyes – House had opted to take the extra blankets from the closet and make himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa for the night.

The result was the resentful protest his leg was giving him today.

House was sitting at the table in the conference room, alone, awaiting the return of his team with news about his patient, when he saw a dark, angry form stalking down the hallway toward him. With irritation, he recognized his patient's father, and returned his attention to the game boy in his hands, hoping vainly that the man would simply walk on by.

He didn't.

House tried to evade the man's attention, locking him out of the conference room before he could enter, but was unable to reach his office door before the other man, who entered even angrier than he had been before.

"You're being funny?" His tone was accusing, outraged – and vaguely threatening.

"Apparently not." House shrugged, feigning unconcern.

The man continued to speak, going on and on about how much money he donated to the hospital, and how much special treatment to which that entitled him, and something about his carpal tunnel syndrome – none of which mattered to House all that much at the moment, with his mind so preoccupied with much more important and troubling matters.

"Fascinating story," he snapped, making no effort to conceal his impatience. "You thought of adapting it for the stage?"

Indignant, the father took an angry step into House's space. "I love my – _look at me_!" he demanded, stepping into House's way as he moved to walk past him. "I love my son, love him more than anything else in the world, and you're _going_ to start paying attention to this case, or I'm going to make things miserable for…"

"Go back to your son's room."

House tensed at the man's advance, wary and ready to react should the man's vocal fury become physical, even as he glanced down at his vibrating pager and issued the quiet, calm command.

Shaking his head stubbornly, the other man insisted, "I'm not leaving here until you get your ass in gear…"

"There's a problem."

House clarified, meeting the man's eyes briefly, then taking advantage of his stunned silence to walk past him, out of his office and toward the patient's room – too preoccupied to notice Wilson watching from a partially open doorway across the hall.

The patient's father started to follow after a moment, but was abruptly stopped when someone grabbed his arm from behind, and he was spun around to face another doctor, one he recognized vaguely, but couldn't quite place. A puzzled, wary frown formed on his face at the look of dark fury in the other man's eyes.

"I'm sorry," the doctor spoke with unsettling calm, a frigid smile on his lips. "From where I stood, it almost looked as if you were… _threatening_ Dr. House. Surely that wasn't what was happening… was it?"

"It's none of your business," he muttered, jerking away from Wilson's grasp.

Wilson caught his arm and pulled him around again, ignoring the man's indignantly parted lips, ready to speak in outrage at the manhandling to which he was being subjected.

"On the contrary, it is," Wilson pointed out, still completely calm, still smiling. "If a patient thinks he can just walk into this hospital and threaten hospital staff because he happens to have donated a substantial amount of money to it – well, then _none_ of us doctors are safe, are we?"

The patient's father finally had the grace to look somewhat chagrined at the knowledge of exactly what it was he had been in the process of doing.

"I just want to make it clear to you," Wilson continued, his tone disconcertingly pleasant. "If this… incident were to become public… if… someone were to report it to the hospital authorities… well, you wouldn't have to worry about making your substantial donations anymore, because this hospital would _own_ you. Considering that they'd have the word of at least one eyewitness to the threat in question – namely myself – and possibly others, you wouldn't stand a chance in court. Do I make myself understood?"

The expression on the other man's face shifted between fury and uncertainty, as he visibly struggled to decide how he should respond to Wilson's words – and then wisely opted not to respond to them at all.

"My son is sick," he stated in a flat tone of defeat. "Dr. House is treating him, so I don't think I'll be acting on whatever threats you think you heard. Now, if you'll excuse me – I've got higher priorities than this conversation at the moment."

Wilson watched through narrowed, speculative eyes as the man stalked away – and wondered if he would have to follow up on the conversation later. He shook his head as he turned and walked away, irritated with himself for the instinctively protective reaction he always seemed to have whenever House was threatened – no matter how angry he happened to be with House at the moment.

_It doesn't matter what he does or how big an ass he is,_ he decided with a sigh of resignation. _He's _mine_, and I love him, and I'll never be able to stay away for long. _His jaw set with determination as he reached his office, trying to strengthen his resolve. _Just for… long _enough_. Long enough to make sure he knows that I'm not going to put up with his crap. He wants to be with me, he's going to have to learn to treat me with the respect I deserve._

*****************************

An hour later, House stood just inside Wilson's office, staring at him in a prolonged moment of awkward, tense silence, as Wilson looked up at him from behind his desk with cool expectancy. At last, Wilson shook his head in a gesture of false confusion, one eyebrow raised dubiously.

"Can I… help you… with something?"

"Just… stop this crap, okay?" House's tone was impatient and frustrated, and tinged with a slightly pleading whine. "I'm _sorry_. I told you that already…"

"Several times," Wilson agreed with a distracted nod, returning his attention to the work on his desk.

"What the hell is it gonna _take_?" House demanded, moving to stand directly in front of Wilson's desk in a bid to regain his attention. "What else do you _want_ from me? I've apologized, I've tried to explain to you how it happened, but nothing's good enough. I don't know what you want me to do…"

With a defeated sigh, Wilson tossed his pen down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, giving House a lightly speculative look. Almost against his will, a grudging half-smile began to form on his lips as he relented in a quiet, soft voice.

"I know, House. I know you didn't know about Cameron, not until you got to the show. And I know that you won't do it again. You are trying really hard to make this up to me…"

"I _am_," House agreed, an urgency in his voice that sent a shock of arousal through Wilson, with the knowledge of the power he held that no one else did – to draw such genuine emotion from House's secret stores. "I'm trying. I really am…"

Wilson shrugged as he pushed his chair back away from his desk with one foot, giving House a slow, appreciative up-and-down look. "I don't know," he mused, his lips twitching slightly with amusement. "Maybe you should… try just a _little_ harder…"

House's expression faded into a solemn look of understanding and devotion, mingled with a powerful desire that left Wilson breathless. Without another word, House moved with slow, deliberate purpose until he stood beside Wilson's chair, behind his desk, leaning his cane against it – then dropped to the floor with a faint grimace of pain as his knees impacted with the plastic guard that ran under Wilson's desk.

Wilson's brow creased in concern at House's pain, and he started to sit up straighter in his chair, reaching out a hand toward him. "House… are you…?"

His words broke off in startled surprise when House took his chair and turned it sharply toward him so that Wilson was facing him, all the while staring intently up into the younger man's eyes. Even as he shifted, somewhat awkwardly and painfully, nearer to Wilson, his hands reaching out to run along the top of Wilson's pants before meeting in the middle at his zipper, House never broke eye contact with his reluctant lover.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion he rarely allowed himself to reveal. Then, in a halting, uncertain voice, glancing away for an instant before returning his almost shy gaze to Wilson, he added, "I… I _love_ you. I… don't want to lose you."

Wilson's expression softened, as he lowered his hand to cup the back of House's head in a gentle gesture of affection. "I don't want to lose you, either," he confessed softly. "That's all this is, House. I just… can't stand the thought of someone… coming along and… and taking you away from me. I just don't want to lose you, ever…"

House bit his lip for a moment, shaking his head as he finally assured him in a tone of firm conviction, "Never gonna happen."

And House proceeded to show Wilson his devotion, willingly submitting himself for the other man's pleasure, lavishing his affection on him in slow, lingering caresses of his mouth that urged him gradually onward with torturous leisure, drawing out his pleasure and desire to a near fever pitch. Wilson's hand stayed in House's hair throughout, playing slowly, idly through the thin strands at first, then gradually tightening as his urgency built within him, until his head fell back and he was gasping for breath, desperate for release.

"House… God, House… _please_…"

A moment later, House brought him to his completion, and Wilson collapsed in his chair, thoroughly sated. House relaxed against him as well, his hands clutching Wilson's waist in desperate, silent pleading for reassurance, his head resting against Wilson's stomach. As he slowly recovered his senses, Wilson raised trembling arms to return his embrace, one hand cupping his head in a subtly possessive gesture of acceptance and reassurance, the other running slow, soothing lines up and down House's back.

"It's all right," Wilson whispered, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the top of House's head. "I forgive you… It's all right…"


	14. Chapter 14

"You do the cases you want to do, when you want to do them. You're not going to get that anywhere else."

House had known that this conversation would eventually take place from the moment when he had seen the accusing look of disapproval cast his way by the new Chairman of the Board in the hall outside his office. He tried to tune out Wilson's lecture as they made their way down the hall, but he knew that sooner or later, he would have to listen to it anyway.

There was no escape.

_And if I can't avoid it, might as well get it out of the way…_

_Still… doesn't mean I have to like it…_

"Relax. I've been through three regime changes in this hospital. Every time, same story."

Wilson did not sound reassured, casting a dark look in House's direction as he replied. "Just keep your head down, that's all I'm saying. And put on your coat."

"It itches."

House deliberately infused his excuse with an extra dose of whining, making light of Wilson's concerns to show how little he was intimidated by Vogler and the changes he seemed determined to make. Wilson was always cautious, always worried about something, and House, as usual, made a very deliberate point of _not_ caring.

But apparently, today, Wilson was not happy with House's version of "business as usual".

"This isn't a joke, House," he snapped, and House looked up at him sharply, vaguely alarmed by the quick anger that had arisen in his voice. "This man has the power to destroy you if he feels like it – and if you keep going this way, you're going to _make_ him feel like it. Why does your default mode always seem to be set on whatever is most likely to make people want to hurt you?"

House shrugged, feigning indifference, though a worrying, sick sensation was starting to form in the pit of his stomach.

"Keeps things interesting."

As he spoke, they reached the corner to turn toward House's office. Before he could round the corner, however, House was startled as Wilson suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking his progress with a hand against the wall directly in his path. House looked up at him warily, unsettlingly reminded of the way Wilson had slammed him into the wall in fury a couple of weeks earlier.

Wilson had not exhibited any signs of violence since that time, and House had nearly convinced himself that nothing like that would happen again. Still, with Wilson's temper clearly rising, it was hard to keep from thinking of the similarities between Wilson's mood that night, and the dark sparks of fury blazing in his eyes now.

Wilson's voice was solemn and softly intimate, his eyes locked onto House's, as he leaned in close.

"It is possible to be _too_ interesting, House," he reminded him. "I know this goes completely against your nature, but sometimes it really is best to just blend into the crowd with the rest of us _normal_ people."

House studied Wilson's face with wide, cautious eyes, trying to read any possible danger signs there – and surprisingly, finding none. Wilson's anger seemed to have gradually faded as he spoke, and he was actually smiling slightly, a sort of affectionate desire mingled with patient understanding in his eyes as he leaned in slightly closer. He glanced slyly up and down the hallway before meeting House's eyes with rueful amusement. Their very close proximity seemed to be having a rather unexpected effect on Wilson – and the knowledge of Wilson's sudden desire had a similar effect on House.

"Yeah, and making out in the hallway outside my office – not exactly a perfect example of blending in, is it?" House smirked, allowing himself to relax slightly as Wilson's mood seemed to shift back to something more pleasant.

Wilson shook his head with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "Which is the _only_ reason we're _not_ making out in the hallway outside your office right now." Wilson stepped back, lowering his hand from the wall as he took a second backward step toward his own office, his secretive smile widening slightly.

"Of course… I wouldn't be opposed to a… a _visit_, in a little while… once things are under control with your patient. We could… _discuss_ the proper rules for… interoffice relationships… under the new regime."

House could not suppress his own smirk at Wilson's weak, somewhat goofy attempt at sexy, suggestive double-speak. He nodded once without a word, meeting Wilson's eyes in a warm, wordless exchange before turning and making his way into his own office.

*************************

"Okay, see… now you're just being stubborn. It's cold. Perfectly good excuse to wear your lab coat."

Wilson looked up as House approached him at the table where he sat in the courtyard, looking over a patient's chart. There was mild amusement and gentle reproof in his voice, and he was unable to conceal a slight smile of amusement at House's continued stubborn refusal to comply with Vogler's arbitrary demands. However, Wilson's smile faded when he noticed the troubled, pensive expression on House's face.

"Carly needs a heart transplant."

Puzzled, Wilson questioned House briefly, trying to figure out how he had come to that conclusion and why it was the source of such a dismal mood; but House's answers were evasive, and seemed to lead him in an ineffectual circle, yielding only enough information to make Wilson worry. Finally, frustrated, Wilson sighed, shaking his head as he looked up at House, at a loss.

"Since when do I need the secret pass code to talk to you?"

"I can't tell you anything. Professional responsibility."

Wilson frowned, suspicion building in his eyes as he studied House's face. Guiltily, House turned away from him, clearing his throat self-consciously. Wilson rose slowly from his seat, moving around to stand directly in front of House, eyes narrowed as he tried to see past House's inscrutable expression to the underlying motives it concealed.

"House," he asked softly at last. "What are you doing?"

House shook his head, his eyes lowered, refusing to meet Wilson's searching gaze. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"No, see… I think I _do_ need to worry about it," Wilson argued, his tone quiet, calm and measured. "I think that anything you might be doing… or _thinking_ about doing… that's an issue when it comes to your professional responsibility… _is_ something I need to worry about, and _you_ need to worry about, because you don't want to be doing anything that's going to give Vogler any additional ammunition against you. Because, let's face it – if he takes the time to look for it, he's already got plenty."

"I get it, okay?" House's tone was irritated and defensive, and he jerked away from the gentle hand Wilson extended toward his arm. "I'm one giant walking legal liability, and he's gonna try to get rid of me. But as long as he hasn't gotten rid of me yet – I have a patient to treat. You wanna talk professional responsibility? My _professional responsibility_ is to make sure that she _lives_ – and that's what I'm going to do!"

"House… that's very commendable. I get that, I really do – but unless you want this patient to be the _last_ life you save – you can't be taking unnecessary risks with your career to save someone who… well…" Wilson's mouth twisted into an apologetic grimace as he finished, obviously aware of how distasteful his words were, "… might not be… _deserving_ of that great a risk."

"Who decides whether or not she's deserving?" House objected, eyes blazing with defiant anger as he met Wilson's gaze with a challenging look. "You?"

"No," Wilson replied firmly, shaking his head. "No… I don't know her. I have no idea what she deserves… or why." He was quiet for a moment, his voice earnest and patient as he concluded, "What I _do_ know… is that _you_ don't deserve to lose your career because you were trying to do the right thing, when I don't think you're really even sure what that is right now. The dozens or maybe hundreds of people you'll save in the future don't deserve to die because you took a reckless and unnecessary risk on this one."

Touched by Wilson's words of praise, support, and concern, House was silent, his eyes averted.

"Just this once… do what you have to do to protect _yourself_. Okay?"

House did not respond, still undecided. Wilson placed a hand on House's arm, shaking it just slightly to draw his attention – and this time, House did not pull away.

"_Okay_?" Wilson repeated in a tone of muted urgency.

At last, House nodded with reluctant acceptance. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

*************************

It was a promise House knew he couldn't keep from the moment he made it.

Regardless of Wilson's concerns, or his own promise, House knew that he would continue to try to find out the truth about Carly, whether or not she really wanted to live – and that once he found out the answer to that question, he would do whatever that answer dictated to be the right thing for his patient.

"You lied, didn't you?"

Wilson's voice was quiet, but sharp and accusing as he stood in the doorway to House's office.

With exaggerated conviction, not turning away from the window, House declared, "I _never_ lie."

Wilson was not amused. His voice was calm but cold and angry as he replied, not acknowledging House's words.

"Big mistake."

"Then you should have voted against putting her on the list," House pointed out, turning at last to face Wilson as he walked further into House's office.

"Are you _kidding_?" Wilson spat out in indignant disbelief. "You expected me to vote _against_ you? I'm your freakin' _boyfriend_, House!"

"Oh, geez. Have some backbone. If you think I'm wrong, do something."

Wilson's brow creased in a disbelieving frown. "Wait… you're getting _mad_ at me for sticking up for you?"

With a derisive sneer, House turned away from Wilson again, staring sightlessly out the window into the rain. "You value our relationship more than your ethical responsibilities."

House's back was turned, so he missed Wilson's startled blink at those words – and the following steeling of his jaw, the cold narrowing of his eyes as he readied himself to strike back, and with far greater potency and painful accuracy than House used.

"Our relationship _is_ an ethical responsibility."

His eyes widening with hurt at those stinging words, House spun around to face Wilson, his lips already parted for a biting retort. He immediately jumped backward, however, startled by Wilson's unexpected nearness. In utter silence, Wilson had crossed the room until he now stood a mere two feet away from House, his jaw clenched with repressed fury, his dark eyes blazing with accusation.

"You really don't ever think about anyone but yourself, do you, House?" he snarled, his voice low and full of angry disgust. "I warned you about taking reckless actions like this, risking your career for one patient; but the truth is, you really don't care about your career, do you? You really wouldn't care if you dragged _my_ career right down along with you."

Wilson gradually edged nearer to House as he spoke, his voice lowering in volume but rising in intensity as he closed what little space remained between them, biting off his words with bitter judgment in his tone.

"You are a selfish… childish… _bastard_, who can't bring himself to think for one second about the one person who cares about you more than anything else in the world, and _maybe_ take a little care to protect _my_ reputation for a change. No, when it all comes down to it, you're just in it for the _win_, aren't you, House? Just so long as you come out on top – nothing else matters. No _one_ else."

House swallowed hard, his eyes lowered, struggling past the cold, roiling sense of shame inspired by Wilson's words. He shook his head slowly, his voice hoarse and hesitant when he finally responded.

"That's… that's not true…"

"Please," Wilson sneered, cutting him off sharply with a disgusted up-and-down look. "You're not really that stupid, House. You know as well as I do that's what this is about. Making your point, that you're still going to do whatever the hell you feel like doing, regardless of Vogler and his plans – that he can't stop you, no matter how much fuel you give him to use against you. If you really believe that, House…"

Wilson leaned in close, one hand braced against the wall, so that he was mere inches from House's face, and House instinctively backed up against the wall, his eyes still focused on Wilson's shoes, as Wilson bit off his words with repressed fury and contempt.

"… then maybe… maybe you're not as smart as I thought you were."

House flinched slightly at those words – an almost imperceptible expression of hurt and uncertainty – but Wilson caught it, and had House been looking up, he would have caught the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth that betrayed his satisfaction at House's reaction.

"Well, I'm telling you now, House – do what you like. But I am _through_ protecting you when you don't even appreciate it – when you can't even _pretend_ to care to protect _me_ when you have the chance."

"I… I wasn't thinking about it like that," House tried again, his voice quiet and unusually subdued. "I just wanted to make sure she lived. I didn't think…"

"No, House, you _didn't_ think," Wilson snapped, slamming his hand against the wall beside House's head in frustration, privately taking another thrill of satisfaction from the way House jerked slightly in reaction to the violent gesture. Backing off, Wilson shook his head in disgust. "You never do."

"I'm sorry…"

House murmured, noting in a vague, detached way that he had used those words more in the last few weeks than he had used them in the previous forty-five years of his life. It didn't seem to matter to Wilson, however, as he turned his back abruptly with a dismissive wave of his hand, heading for the door.

"Save it," he snapped. "I've got work to do."

"How… how much longer do you think you'll be?"

House's voice was tentative, and he chose his words carefully, unwilling to ask Wilson directly if their plans for dinner were still on. Judging from Wilson's mood, House didn't think he could safely assume that was the case. Wilson easily guessed at his concerns, however, stopping in the doorway to face him for a moment with a cold, derisive look.

"I'm not sure, could be quite a while. Anyway… I've suddenly lost my appetite."

Without looking back, Wilson stalked away to his own office, leaving House's head spinning, his stomach churning, as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened, and how he had managed to once again ruin Wilson's mood and destroy the peaceful contentment that had existed between them.


	15. Chapter 15

Wilson's thoughts were dark and troubled as he made his way through the halls of the hospital, anxious to find House and tell him what was going on.

_Great. This is just great. Vogler's determined to get rid of him, and thankfully, Cuddy's determined to keep him from doing that – but I'm not sure she can stop him in the end…_

Cuddy had managed to escape her office, using the excuse of getting a cup of coffee, long enough to inform Wilson in hurried, frantic tones of Vogler's ultimatum. She had seemed desperate, seeking for some advice; but unfortunately, Wilson had little to offer her. In this situation, Vogler seemed to hold all the cards.

_If only he could have put on the stupid freakin' lab coat…_

When he had stopped by House's office, only Foreman was there, and he had told Wilson that he didn't know where House was, but their patient was having an MRI. So, Wilson set off for radiology, on the off chance that perhaps he would find House overseeing the procedure.

As he approached the closed door to the observation booth, Wilson's hopes sank as he made out the voices of Cameron and Chase… but not House. Still, he hoped they might be able to point him in the right direction. He froze outside the door, however, when he heard the quiet, uncertain words that Cameron spoke.

"Did House seem… weird, to you?"

"Are you _expecting_ him to be weird?" Chase countered, mild curiosity in his voice.

Wilson leaned against the wall beside the door, making sure that he was out of sight from the small window in the door, as he listened intently to their quiet conversation. Cameron's next words, however, set a cold feeling of possessive anger and fear in the pit of his stomach.

"We… spoke… about how we feel."

_How they_ feel? _What the hell is that supposed to mean? What exactly does House_ feel _for her?_

"You told him you liked him?" Chase sounded surprised, but far more interested than he had sounded a moment earlier.

"No, of course not." Cameron's words were accompanied by a low, rueful laugh of self-conscious embarrassment. "I asked _him_ if he liked _me_."

"Why would you do that?" Chase sounded stunned, and Wilson could almost hear him shaking his head in disbelief.

"Because… _I_ like _him_."

_Little slut… disgusting little whore…_

Wilson fumed silently, resisting the impulse to burst through the door and teach Cameron a lesson about making moves on _his_ man. He had known Cameron was interested in House for months now, and she had even made a few attempts to get closer to House, even going so far as to seek out his advice on at least one occasion.

But now, she was going so far as to openly declare her feelings for House to others…

_She'd better stay away from him, if she knows what's good for her. She'd better just keep her words and her hands and everything else to herself. I will _not_ lose him to her… no matter what I have to do to make sure of that…_

Chase and Cameron kept talking a few moments longer, but Wilson was no longer listening. His thoughts were consumed with what he had already heard – and what he was going to do about it.

**************************

Things were going remarkably well.

House even found himself smiling a little as he guided the car his patient's mobster brother had given him as a rather generous gift for helping his brother. For once, he relished the attention of the occasional pedestrian, casting appreciative glances in their direction.

Wilson had been irritated for a couple days over House's refusal to comply with Vogler's orders. In the end, however, he had softened, relenting and admitting that House simply wouldn't be House if he was the kind of person who would bend to the demands of a power mad authority figure like Vogler.

He had tenderly kissed him and confessed, "That's why you're the man I love."

House glanced down in surprise when he felt a light pressure on his leg, just above his knee… and smiled when he saw Wilson's hand resting comfortably there. He glanced up at Wilson's face, and his smile faded slightly when he saw the serious expression on Wilson's face.

"You should let Vogler tell the feds."

House felt his good mood withering with Wilson's advice.

_So we're back to this then… back to appeasing the control freak millionaire to cover our butts…_

"Why?" he asked, his voice quiet and level.

He already knew the answer before Wilson spoke.

"Because you humiliated him the first time Joey was released. You think you should still be in third there, Ace?"

House forced himself to ignore the remark about his driving, gritting his teeth against the scathing retort that rose to his lips. "He humiliated _himself_," he countered instead, choosing to keep the conversation on topic.

"And because your job depends on the kind of mood Vogler's in at the end of his marathon with Cuddy," Wilson added. He frowned, looking critically down at the gear shift as he asked, "Seriously, have you ever driven an automobile before? There are four gears, you know."

Irritated by Wilson's constant corrections, House allowed his thoughts to come out before he could think to temper them.

"The '66 came with a shut up button."

Wilson's only response was utter silence.

House felt a cold knot forming in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed hard, inwardly cringing at his comment, and the impending bad mood he was certain it would create in his lover.

_Shouldn't have said that… should have just kept your stupid mouth shut…_

His frown deepened slightly, however, as frustration mingled with his fear.

_But why _shouldn't_ I go ahead and say what's on my mind, like I've always done? Why should I be _afraid_ of _Wilson_? Things have been great lately; there's no reason to think that he'll jump instantly to anger… except of course, the fact that he's done that quite a bit lately, actually…_

In all the years of their friendship, House had seen Wilson angry many times; but he had never guessed at the quick temper that lay beneath the calm façade that Wilson usually displayed. Since they had turned their friendship into something more, it seemed that Wilson had become more comfortable with allowing that side of his personality to show more often.

_It seems like I'm always doing something wrong… always doing something to get on his nerves or make him angry with me…_

What House didn't want to admit to himself as he cast anxious glances in Wilson's direction, wondering at his silence, was that he was not only afraid to anger Wilson for fear of his reaction – but he was also afraid to anger him, for fear of how _he_ would have to react if Wilson's anger went too far. He knew enough to know that forgiveness was permission when it came to cases of physical violence, and knew that if Wilson ever crossed that line, he would have to take the rather drastic but necessary step of ending their relationship.

It was a step House was not sure he was capable of taking.

_I can't lose him… no matter what, I can't… If I lose Wilson, what else have I got? Nothing. He loves me… and there's no one else I can say that about. He's… he's all I have…_

"Pull over up here, into that parking lot."

Wilson's voice was quiet and even, as he gestured toward an empty, dimly lit lot to their right. House swallowed hard to dampen his dry mouth, nodding once in silence as he got into the right lane and prepared to obey Wilson's command. The cold, sick feeling in his stomach intensified, as he wondered what Wilson intended. As he parked the car and turned uneasily in his seat to face Wilson, not quite able to meet his eyes, House noticed that his hands were trembling, and folded them together quickly in an effort to disguise it.

Wilson had already noticed.

"Hey," he murmured gently, reaching up a hand to cup House's cheek, his expression growing soft and sad when House barely managed to suppress a flinch. "Relax. What are you so nervous about?"

House shrugged slightly, still not looking at Wilson, until Wilson gently tilted his chin up, silently insisting that House meet his warm, reassuring gaze. Wilson leaned in slowly, capturing House's mouth in a kiss that was slow, thorough, and infinitely tender. When he drew back, House's eyes were studying his face with something resembling relief, yet still revealing a note of apprehension.

"Don't worry so much," Wilson advised softly with a smile. "I know you were just joking, House. Everything's fine. Okay?"

Uncertain, House held his gaze for a moment longer, before nodding slowly. "Okay," he echoed in a voice barely over a whisper. "Then… _why _did you want me to stop the car?"

Wilson's smile became sly and suggestive, a teasing glimmer in his eyes as he trailed a slow, purposeful hand up House's leg.

"Why do you think?"

****************************

The next morning, Wilson walked with House toward their offices, as House described his conversation with Cuddy, and the ultimate result of her interminable conference with Vogler.

"So Cuddy stood up for you." Wilson's tone was dubious, as if he wasn't quite sure what Cuddy's motives might be in doing so.

"To a point," House conceded with a grimace and a sideways half-nod.

Wilson frowned, the suspicion in his eyes deepening. "To _what_ point?"

"I gotta do six more clinic hours a month. So do two of them." House nodded toward his team waiting for him in his office.

"Why only two?"

House paused to meet Wilson's eyes, gauging his reaction as he replied. "Because one of them's gone. I gotta fire somebody."

Just as House reached for the door to his office, prepared to make a dramatic exit on the heels of his revelation, Wilson stopped him with a light but firm hand on his wrist, drawing his eyes back to Wilson's in expectation. Wilson's expression was inscrutable, his tone certain, as he gave House his recommendation.

"Cameron."

House's brow creased in a slight frown, and he glanced self-consciously down at the floor before meeting Wilson's eyes again.

"I'm not sure the choice is that simple."

Wilson considered for a moment, before releasing House's wrist, nodding down the hall toward his own office. "Come on. I need to talk to you."

House hesitated a moment before following Wilson around the corner and into his office. His eyes widened slightly as he watched Wilson lock the door, then turn to face him fully, his expression solemn and intent.

"I know that Cameron asked you if you liked her."

House's expression became wary, and he took an unconscious step backward as he opened his mouth to respond in a cautious, halting voice. "I… told her I'm not interested. It really wasn't… wasn't that big a deal. She asked me if I liked her… and I told her _no_, Wilson. There's no reason to fire her."

"Except for the fact that _she_ obviously likes _you_, House," Wilson countered, his tone taking on a note of impatience as he folded his arms across his chest in irritation. "That could be a complication that you don't need in a dangerous situation like this Vogler thing is shaping up to be."

"I would think that I'd want as many people that _do_ like me around as possible," House argued, sounding a little defensive. "She _knows _I don't want anything to do with her outside of working hours. She's acted completely normal ever since that conversation. I _need _her on my team. Every member of my team brings something different to the table, and that's why it works perfectly just as it is."

"Apparently it doesn't," Wilson shot back, anger rising in his voice as he took a step closer to House, "since _someone_ had to tell Vogler about your bulimic heart patient. I warned you about this, House. I told you to be careful, but you were the one who _had_ to play this _your_ way… so now you have to deal with the consequences. You have to fire someone."

"Well, I don't intend to," House insisted. "I intend to win this, and not end up having to fire anyone." He paused, an irritated frown crossing his face as he added, "And anyway, I'm pretty sure it was _Chase_ that ratted me out to Vogler, so if I _have _to fire someone, shouldn't it be…?"

House's words broke off as he drew in a sharp breath of alarmed surprise, when Wilson swiftly moved in closer to him, reaching out to grasp his forearm and prevent his attempted step backward. Wilson held him close to him, not allowing his retreat, as a cool, knowing smile rose to his lips, and his dark, piercing gaze locked onto House's wide, uncertain eyes.

"House," he began in a quiet, patient voice. "You can't always have exactly what you want." He paused, holding House's gaze as he clarified slowly, "You can have Cameron… or you can have me… but you can't have both."

House's expression became indignant. "That's not a fair choice. I don't _want_ her like…"

Wilson instantly released him, turning on his heel and striding without hesitation toward his own office door as if to leave. House felt his stomach lurch with fear at the prospect of what such an action would symbolize.

"_Wait_."

He spoke up just as Wilson reached for the door handle – and Wilson stopped, turning toward him slightly again, eyebrows raised in expectation. House's gaze faltered as he struggled over words far more humble and submissive than he was accustomed to uttering – though he was becoming more and more used to it all the time.

"Okay." House conceded at last, his eyes downcast. "Okay. I… don't need her." He hesitated, meeting Wilson's eyes with a muted look of beseeching honesty. "Not… not like I need _you_. I'll… I'll fire her… if that's what you want."

Wilson's face broke into a satisfied smile as he crossed the room to his lover once more, his hands resting possessively at House's hips as he leaned in for a deep, hard, demanding kiss that left House breathless and longing for more when it was over.

"It is," Wilson confirmed with a decisive nod. His voice slid over House's uncertainties like dark satin, soothing, reassuring him that he had made the right choice. "She wants you… and I don't like that. You're _mine_ now, House – not hers, or anyone else's. _Mine_. And I _don't_ like to share."

Wilson wanted him, badly enough that he was afraid to take the chance of someone else taking him away.

House couldn't remember the last time someone had cared that much for him.

"You… you won't have to." He whispered the earnest promise, leaning in closer to Wilson, wordlessly seeking another kiss. "I swear it, Wilson… I _am_ yours, no one else's. You don't ever have to worry about that…"

His eyes trailed down to Wilson's lips, and he moved in to claim the kiss he wanted – but Wilson's firm hand on his chest stopped him, and he looked up at Wilson's face, a silent, uncertain question in his eyes.

"Is that so."

Wilson murmured in a tone of thoughtful amusement, looking House up and down through lust-darkened eyes, as a firm hand on House's shoulder pressed insistently downward, the other on his arm pushing him into the kneeling position Wilson wanted, while supporting him enough to keep the movement from being painful.

House stared up at him, his insecurity and vulnerability apparent in his naked gaze. Wilson smiled down at him, his breath quickening at the rather appealing sight of House, kneeling and submissive at his feet. Wilson's voice was breathless and trembling with desire when he spoke again, holding House's gaze intently.

"Why don't you prove it?"


	16. Chapter 16

"You need to get rid of one of your people."

House suppressed a sigh as he reached the elevators, and realized that he could not escape Cuddy's lecture. He had tried to tune her out for the past several minutes, to no avail. Now, she stood facing him, arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised expectantly as she waited for his response.

So, he gave it to her.

"Absolutely," he replied with exaggerated certainty. "As soon as I do performance reviews. And then… review the reviews, of course. Because a decision like this can't be made without the proper… you know… _review_."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, already opening her mouth to respond.

"Shouldn't take longer than a month, maybe two," House assured her. "Four at the most… unless it gets complicated."

"There's no way out on this," Cuddy insisted, the note of resignation in her voice reminding House that she was not much happier about the situation than he was. "You may as well get it over with as fast as you can, like ripping off a band-aid."

"Only instead of a two-cent piece of tape and gauze, it's a _human being_," House reminded her, suppressing a smile at the guilt he saw in her eyes – which was his desired reaction.

"Like you care," she retorted, clearly defensive.

House gave her a knowing smile as the elevator doors opened at last. "Like you _don't_."

"You have a week," Cuddy declared as House stepped past her into the elevator, where Cameron was waiting, trying not to look too interested in House's conversation with Cuddy. "Get it done."

As Cameron immediately launched into making a case for what she thought should be their next patient, House tried pretending to be disinterested – but his distraction was unfortunately quite real. He paid just enough attention to Cameron's words to be able to make appropriate answers – but his thoughts were far away.

Or perhaps, closer than she would have imagined.

_Too_ close.

After his last conversation with Wilson about Cameron, and his quiet promise to abide by Wilson's wishes and fire her, House had spent a lot of time in troubled, uncertain thought on the matter, and had finally come to a conclusion that filled him with an unsettled sense of apprehension.

He did not want to fire Cameron, had in fact decided that he was not going to, if it could be avoided.

And Wilson was not going to like that.

_But… does it really _matter_ if he likes it? It's really none of his business. He's not the one who has to work with whoever I choose to keep. This should be _my_ choice… not his. _

Wilson's insistence on dictating House's choice had weighed on his mind over the past few days, and House found himself more and more frustrated with the ever-increasing demands that Wilson was making on him. He didn't want to lose Wilson, didn't want to incite his rather frightening temper – but he wasn't sure that he could keep just backing down and allowing Wilson to call all the shots in their relationship.

On the other hand… he wasn't sure he could bring himself to stand up to Wilson, either, when it came to this decision, or any other involving Cameron, whom Wilson now viewed with utter distrust. Wilson wanted her gone, and Wilson was determined to get what he wanted, regardless of what House wanted.

_But… maybe there's another way. There's got to be a way to make Vogler back down. There's technically no reason to fire _any_ of them. They're all doing their jobs, and doing them well – mostly. I need to find out where his weaknesses are – something I might be able to use against him. If I can find a way to get Vogler to say that I don't have to do it, then… well, Wilson can't really be upset with _me_ over it, can he?_

If he could put off actually firing Cameron as long as possible, while he tried to find a way around Vogler's orders, then maybe, just _maybe_ he might be able to pull it off.

Until then, he just had to avoid the topic with Wilson.

**************************

Unfortunately, Wilson brought the topic up immediately when they met for lunch that day.

"So… did you do it yet?"

House could tell from Wilson's tone what he was talking about. He attempted to divert the conversation, well aware that he was only stalling for time as he cast an exaggeratedly flirtatious look in Wilson's direction, hoping to distract him.

"Many times, just this past week. But then, _you_ already know _that_…"

Wilson rolled his eyes, glancing around with mild embarrassment to see if anyone had overheard before retorting, "Yeah. Me and half of New Jersey." House looked up at him, lips parted in indignant protest, but Wilson was already speaking again, his dark eyes piercing as he watched for House's reaction as he spoke. "But… I'm talking about Cameron. I noticed she was still in your office when I passed by… and she wasn't packing up her things."

"I haven't told her yet," House admitted, hoping his tone didn't sound as evasive as it felt. "I will. I just… don't want Vogler to _know_ I will. Not yet. I don't want him to think he's beaten me that easily. I think I'd rather play the game a little longer before conceding defeat."

Wilson was quiet as they made their way across the cafeteria to their usual table, and House waited in silent tension for the inevitable reaction. When it came, it was surprisingly calm and understanding.

"I can understand that," Wilson conceded as he took a bite of his pasta salad, waiting until he had finished it to continue, his eyes focused down on his plate rather than looking up to meet House's cautious gaze. "But you know that he _will_ beat you, this time. Right? I mean…"

Wilson shrugged carelessly before finally looking up, his dark gaze arresting, making House's stomach lurch. Suddenly, he was sure that Wilson knew exactly what he was up to. Wilson's voice was soft and knowing as he held House's gaze and concluded calmly.

"… we both know you're just stalling for time… right?"

House swallowed hard, struggling to keep his expression even and composed as he nodded. "Yeah. I know."

A slight smile formed on Wilson's lips as he nodded in satisfaction. His words were a mere acknowledgement of what House had just confirmed, but they carried an underlying note of warning that House could not ignore. There was a finality, a subtle command in Wilson's voice as he spoke, that let House know that as far as Wilson was concerned, there would be no further discussion on the matter.

"Eventually… you're not gonna have a choice. Eventually… she's _gone_."

**************************

It would have been easy for House to take Chase's claim that Cameron had given their patient the wrong medicine as an excuse to go ahead and fire her.

It would have been easy – but it would not have been fair.

Based on what he knew of their characters, personalities, and work ethics, House would have been willing to bet money that between the two of them, Chase was more likely to have made the mistake. Of course, he didn't allow Cameron to see that at the time of the accusation.

That was why he found himself with her in the lab that afternoon, trying his best to express an apology without actually appearing to apologize.

He felt somewhat better as he left Cameron in the lab to finish running her tests, heading back toward his own office to prepare to leave for the evening. However, he had barely gone two steps when Wilson appeared out of a nearby doorway, falling into sync with his steps as he walked with him.

"So did you do it?" Wilson sounded bloodthirstily eager to hear of Cameron's destruction. "Was that what that was?"

"Um… no," House admitted, inwardly cringing to think of what conclusions Wilson might draw about his conversation with Cameron, now that he knew it had not been the conversation he had been hoping for. "I… haven't done that yet."

"Oh." Wilson was quiet for a long tense moment. When he spoke again, his voice carried a tone of restrained anger and forced calm. "When were you planning on doing that, House? Or were you planning on it at all?"

House was silent as they passed the door to Wilson's office, unsure how to answer Wilson's question – unsure that he owed him an answer at all. Abruptly, Wilson caught his arm and pulled him back toward his own office, which offered them much greater privacy than the glass walls of House's office. House was too surprised to protest as Wilson hauled him inside and shut the door, then pushed him back against it, moving in close enough to make House's breath quicken with apprehension.

"Chase came to me this afternoon," Wilson informed House in an accusing tone. "He said he's worried that he's going to be the one you're going to fire. Now why would he come to that conclusion, House?"

"Oh, I don't know," House retorted with biting sarcasm dripping from his words as he glared defiantly at Wilson. "Maybe it's because he's been screwing up left and right lately… or maybe it's because he's been running to Vogler behind my back, and I know about it, and he _knows_ I know about it. Either option makes me look like an incompetent fool if I _don't_ fire him – so take your pick."

The resentment, the subtle indication that Wilson's demands were forcing him to appear less competent in his job, was clear in his tone, and he held Wilson's gaze firmly, waiting for his response.

"House…" Wilson's voice was measured, carefully calm, his underlying anger and frustration betrayed only by the slight tightening of his already bruising grip on House's arm. "… we talked about this. We agreed that as long as you have to fire someone, it was going to be Cameron…"

"Well… maybe I _don't_ have to fire someone," House argued. "I haven't _begun_ to fight as far as Vogler's concerned. If I can find a way to convince him that it's in his best interests to let me keep all of them…"

"Cameron should go anyway, whether he's making you fire someone or not," Wilson insisted stubbornly, a dangerous light of anger flashing in his dark eyes. "Her attraction to you is a liability. It's inappropriate. It's… it's sexual harassment."

"Her _feelings_ are not _sexual harassment_!" House argued, incredulous at the statement. "Maybe if she was my boss… but she's not. I'm hers. You know what _would_ qualify as sexual harassment – to _fire_ her because she happens to have a _crush _on me!"

"Or asking her out on a date?" Wilson spat the accusation at him, shaking him to emphasize his words, so hard that House felt a sharp pain go up his spine from the impact with the door behind him. "How does that rank on the scale of acceptable workplace behavior for an employer, House?"

"This isn't about that," House insisted, trying to pull away from Wilson's painful grip on his arms. "This should be about what's best for my team – what's best for _me_." He was quiet for a moment, giving up on his attempt to free himself from Wilson's restraining hands and slumping slightly against the door, his head lowered as he added in a soft voice of muted hurt and defeat. "I would have thought that's what would be important to you."

"It is, House." Wilson's voice softened as he relented slightly, letting out a heavy sigh at the dejected tone of House's voice. "I just… don't want her to…"

"Which is more dangerous, Wilson?" House asked, his voice flat as he looked up to meet Wilson's eyes again. "A pretty girl with a crush? Or an employee who's making a habit of going behind my back and reporting my every questionable move to a man who'd like to see me lose my entire career?" When Wilson did not respond for a moment, unable to argue against the validity of that point, House added, "I would think that this whole protective streak you've got going would allow you to see that. But this isn't really about protecting _me_, is it? It's about getting rid of the competition."

Wilson's eyes widened in indignation, and his jaw dropped. He swiftly recovered, his shoulders straightening as he retorted, "This is about nothing _but_ protecting you, House! I'm only doing this because I _love _you…"

"Yeah?" House muttered, glancing pointedly at Wilson's hands on his arms before meeting his eyes again. "And the bruises I'm gonna find on my arms in the morning…" House hesitated, starting to speak, then stopping, then pressing forward and deciding to say it after all. "… forcing me to prove myself to you by demeaning myself in front of you… are _those _signs of your _love_, too?"

Startled and taken aback by the soft accusation in House's eyes, Wilson abruptly let go of him, taking a step back, shaking his head in dismay.

"House… no… I never… I mean… I wasn't trying to… to _demean_ you…"

House took the space Wilson had given him, immediately opening the door and slipping half out of it, pausing only long enough to deliver his final declaration.

"You know what? This is my decision, Wilson – not yours. If you wanna choose to take it personally, that's your business, but I'm making the choice of who to keep and who to let go based on what's best for my team. You can draw your own assumptions; I'll only tell you this once, and you can believe or not that I'm telling you the truth. I love _you_ – not Cameron. And I'll keep who I think I can use, and let go who I think is working against me. Either way, whoever I choose to fire – it's _my_ decision."

Without waiting for Wilson's response, House stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him, headed for his own office. Wilson opened the blinds and watched him go, his expression darkening as a cold, unsettled sensation began to build, tightening in his chest as House's defiant words echoed in his ears, and near-panicked thoughts rang in his mind.

_I'm losing him… I'm losing control of him… _

Days earlier, House had been willing to do whatever it took to keep Wilson with him.

Today, he seemed to have decided that he had had enough.

_But no… no, he hasn't… _I'll _decide when it's enough… _

Wilson stared grimly at the place where House had disappeared from his sight, the barest trace of a smile beginning to form on his lips.

_Thinks he can talk to me like that? I think it's time I taught him a lesson in just how much he really does need me. _


	17. Chapter 17

"You're right."

House looked up from the television show he was watching, eyebrows raised in surprise at Wilson's words of greeting.

"I am?"

Wilson nodded once and gave him a casual smile as he took off his coat and hung it on the rack, before crossing the room to sit down on the couch beside him. House tensed slightly at his approach, torn between hope and apprehension. The idea that Wilson might really be accepting House's decision to make his own decisions so easily was a pleasant one; but House was fairly certain that it would not be that easy.

_Except, now… he just said… I'm right… maybe…_

House swallowed hard, looking away uneasily as Wilson slid closer to him across the couch, reaching out a hand to rest on his knee.

"Your work-related situations are your business, not mine. If you don't want my advice, then I won't give it to you anymore. I'll leave your decisions to you."

House looked up dubiously, studying Wilson's expression, keeping his own carefully in check. "_Sounds_ good," he admitted cautiously. "But can you actually _do_ it? It'd be the first time. Even before we were dating, you've always seemed to feel like my business is your business."

"I can do it." Wilson was confident, eyes shining with optimistic certainty. "You're not a child, House. I shouldn't treat you like one. You can make your own decisions… manage your own problems. I've been worried about Vogler, about what he thinks of you, but you know – that's not my problem to worry about. I need to have confidence that you can handle it – and I do."

He was quiet then, bracing his hand on House's good leg as he leaned in to kiss him softly, allowing the kiss to linger as House's mouth slackened, yielding to his advance. After a few moments, he drew back, smiling into House's eyes as he spoke again in a soft, affectionate voice.

"I have faith in you, House. You can take care of yourself… if I can let you."

House felt a strangely unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, feeling unexpectedly bereft with Wilson's words – almost… _abandoned_. He reminded himself that this was what he had _wanted _– for Wilson to just _back off_ a little and allow him to make his own decisions without insisting on interfering. He searched Wilson's eyes, and found no traces of what he expected – anger, disgust, dismissal.

"Okay," he answered at last, his own voice quiet and uncertain. "We'll see."

Wilson's smile broadened as he leaned in to claim another kiss, his hand sliding behind House's head and drawing him in close; and House surrendered to the kiss, tentatively returning Wilson's embrace, his hands rising to pull Wilson's hips down closer to him. Even as he savored the reassurance of Wilson's affection, however, his thoughts were racing in a downward swirling circle of doubts and insecurity.

_Is this what he says it is? He's just giving me the freedom to make my own choices? Or has he decided it's not worth the effort anymore? Is that what this is? Is he giving up on me?_

*************************

"This is ridiculous."

House was fuming as he stalked into Wilson's office, slamming the door behind him. Wilson suppressed a smile as he looked up, making his expression curious and surprised as he waited for House's explanation. He knew he had not done anything to upset his lover, not today; therefore, House's frustration had to be due to something else – some conflict which Wilson had not yet heard about, due to his decision to stay out of House's work issues.

"What's wrong?" Wilson's voice carried a note of interest and concern, but remained light and casual as his eyes left House's face and returned to the work laid out in front of him.

His plan was moving along, right on schedule.

All he had to do was to simply do what House wanted. He just had to back off a little, allowing House the room to function as an adult, to make his own decisions and take responsibility for his own issues at work – and wait for him to screw it up royally and come begging for the advice and direction he had scorned.

"Vogler's an ass, that's what's wrong."

"Well, so are you, so that works out nicely."

House's only response to the good-natured jibe was a pointed glare as he continued, quietly fuming. "He tells me to fire one person, but then when I pick one person, he tells me it has to be someone else."

Wilson resisted the intense desire to ask which _one person_, and instead just nodded with mild interest, waiting for House to go on.

"He's protecting Chase," House muttered. "This just confirms what I already knew. So it _has_ to be Cameron or Foreman – if I choose to fire someone."

Wilson frowned slightly, suppressing his frustration at House's stubbornness in continuing to think that he would be able to evade Vogler's demands. Aware that he could not allow House to see how much he really cared about the situation**, **Wilson kept his tone calm and mild as he echoed dubiously, "_If_ you fire someone?"

House nodded, holding Wilson's gaze, watching for his reaction as he continued with a grim smile.

"He's given me an out. I have to give a speech at the National Cardiology Conference tonight, and treat this patient – I suppose I should say _my_ patient, now."

Wilson felt a quiet anger rising up from the midst of his frustrations, and struggled to hold it back. House had insisted that Vogler would eventually back down, despite Wilson's argument that House couldn't beat Vogler; and now, it appeared that House was right.

_Just one lousy speech? That's all he has to do?_ Wilson's thoughts were laced with a sick feeling of disgust at the unfortunate turn of fate that would certainly ruin his plans. _He's going to beat Vogler after all – without my help – and that's just going to make him even more sure that he can do just fine without me._

"I don't want to do it. Let him push me around… give the order and watch me jump…" House shook his head slowly, eyes focused on Wilson's desk. "I don't want to do this."

Wilson looked up again, his interest and hopes piqued by House's muttered words. He fought against the urge to argue, to offer his own advice, shrugging casually as he returned his eyes to his work.

"Whatever you think is best."

House's brow creased in frustration and suspicion, and he was silent until Wilson looked up again, an innocent expression of curiosity at his silence the only emotion on his face. Wilson shook his head slightly, as if bewildered, raising his hands in front of him in a questioning gesture.

"What?"

"You _do_ have an opinion on this."

Wilson nodded, lowering his eyes to his work again. "I do," he agreed.

House was quiet for a moment, eyes narrowed as he studied the other man. "But you're not going to share it," he realized at last.

"No, I'm not."

Wilson replied simply without hesitation, repressing the grin he felt forming around the corners of his mouth. The defeated sigh accompanying House's words was a beautiful sound to him, betraying the fact that perhaps his plan was working a little better than he had suspected.

"Please," House scoffed. "Inside you're screaming your thoughts at me – desperate to tell me what I should do to fix this situation, how to make it work the best to everyone's advantage. I know you think you know what I should do – and it's only a matter of time before you give in to your nature and tell me."

House's tone suggested derision and disgust at the idea, but Wilson knew that House was craving his advice by now, anxious to know what Wilson thought he should do.

_All the more reason to keep withholding it._

"It's your decision, House, to handle however you want. I told you I wasn't going to interfere anymore, and I won't. I promise."

Wilson finally looked up at House again with a confident smile, as if very pleased with himself that he was managing to respect House's boundaries and refrain from his usual tactic of treating him like a child. In truth, Wilson _was_ very pleased with himself – but not for the reasons House thought.

_It's all going to fall apart around him. He's not going to be able to do what's best for him. His pride and stubbornness will sabotage him as usual, and everything's going to blow up in his face._

As House rose to his feet and finally left Wilson's office, trying not to show his disappointment at leaving without what he had come for, Wilson finally allowed himself the private, pleased smile he had been holding back.

_And when it does… I'll be right there to pick up the pieces…_

*************************

House made his decisions the best he could, reassuring himself with the knowledge that whatever Wilson might have advised him to do, he would most likely have ignored it anyway. This was what he had wanted for the past few weeks – for Wilson to give him the space to function on his own.

So why did he feel so uneasy, so unsure of his own choices?

As he descended the steps from the stage following the disastrous semblance of a speech he had given, he didn't dare meet the eyes of the little group assembled at the table front and center, where his gaze had sought them out a time or two while he was on the platform.

He could imagine their expressions well enough without looking.

Cameron and Foreman probably looked as if they'd just lost their jobs – because one of them actually had. He could clearly picture the fury blazing in Cuddy's blue eyes, could imagine her waiting at the edge of the stage, ready to strike the moment he came within reach. Chase most likely was nothing more than amused by the drama House had brought to an otherwise boring affair.

After all, the outcome of this evening had nothing to do with him. His job was safe.

It was Wilson's face that House could not bring himself to think about.

He stood at the edge of the stage, behind the curtain that concealed him from the rest of the room, momentarily undecided. He didn't want to walk out into that room, to face the accusations of Cuddy and his team, the staring eyes of the rest of the audience – or the knowing, smug non-surprise on Wilson's face. He glanced around the backstage area until he saw a door marked _Exit_, and swiftly made his way toward it, determined not to face anyone else at all that night.

Once he had reached his car, he headed home immediately, planning to be asleep – or at least _appear_ to be asleep – long before Wilson arrived to berate him for making the worst possible choice he could have made, and sacrificing the careers of his team, and most likely his own as well, for the sake of absolutely nothing but his own pride.

_Or worse, just ignore me like he's been doing all day… just pretend that it's fine that I just ruined everything, while acting all distant and calm and barely even speaking to me… Yeah… you really handled your decision-making brilliantly, didn't you? Idiot… freakin' moron… way to prove how capable and intelligent you really are…_

_*************************_

Wilson arrived home about an hour after House.

He found House seated on the sofa in the darkened living room, his blank, expressionless stare illuminated by the faint glow of the muted television. House did not look up as he entered, did not move or make a sound to acknowledge his presence – unwilling to face the judgment, the criticism, he was certain Wilson would soon be casting in his direction.

Without a word, Wilson slipped up behind him, placing his warm, strong hands firmly on House's shoulders. House tensed instinctively at his touch, not certain what to expect. He hadn't expected violence exactly, as Wilson had never gone so far as to strike out at him in anger, but he had _certainly_ not expected gentleness and affection, not after the fiasco he had created that night.

Strangely, however – that was exactly what he received.

"Shhh," Wilson whispered soothingly as his hands began to gently knead the tension from House's taut shoulders. "Relax. It's done now… no reason to worry about what's already done…"

House let out a heavy, defeated sigh, raising one hand to cover his face as his shoulders slumped slightly, relaxing somewhat under Wilson's tender, expert ministrations. "I blew it," he muttered, dejected. "I screwed us all over."

"I'm sorry."

Wilson murmured behind him, not acknowledging House's self-incriminations, and it took House a moment to be certain he had heard correctly. He turned his head, tilted sideways in curiosity, but did not turn around fully to face his lover, unwilling to force him to stop the gradually intensifying massage he was administering. House found that he didn't even have the energy to question Wilson's words, so he simply waited for the younger man to go on.

"I let you down," Wilson explained after a moment, his voice soft and even as he slid his hands slowly, firmly, down House's forearms, then back up to his shoulders, rubbing slow circles down to his upper back. "I should have been there for you… and I wasn't."

"It was my fault I did the wrong thing," House muttered, shaking his head slowly, his eyes lowered to the floor in shame. "I'm the one who cost Cameron or Foreman their jobs – maybe both of them. And almost definitely mine. That's on me, not you."

Wilson was quiet for a moment before persisting calmly. "I was just trying to give you the space… the chance to make your own decisions on this. You came to me… and I knew you wanted advice… but I didn't give it to you… and I should have. If I had… well… then maybe none of this would have happened."

House let out a weak snort of derision. "Because I always listen so well to your advice when you _do_ give it."

House could hear the indulgent smile in Wilson's voice as he conceded, "Sometimes you don't. Sometimes you do." He was quiet, his tone becoming more serious as he pointed out, "This time… I didn't even give you the chance."

Removing his hands from House's shoulders, Wilson moved slowly around the sofa, sitting down close at House's side and wrapping a strong, reassuring arm around him, his free hand resting on House's thigh and drawing him in closer. Wilson's mouth was inches from House's face, his dark eyes open and searching as he met House's gaze and spoke in a hushed, tender tone.

"I should have been there for you, House. I shouldn't have let my pride keep my mouth shut. I should have told you what I thought. I shouldn't have left you to go this alone. I'm so… so sorry…"

House shook his head, dismissing Wilson's apology as unnecessary, his lowered eyes continually gravitating toward Wilson's parted lips. "I… wouldn't have listened. I… _should_ have listened…"

House's downcast gaze missed the brief flash of triumph in Wilson's eyes at his reluctant confession. Content that he had met his objective, Wilson slid his arms tighter around House, pulling him close, one hand cupping the back of his head to draw him into a firm, possessive kiss. House resisted slightly at first, as if not sure why Wilson even felt like kissing him at the moment – but then yielded, allowing Wilson to lavish his reassurance and affection on him.

"I promise," Wilson murmured, drawing back after a moment to meet House's uncertain, vulnerable eyes. "I will _never_ let you down like that again. I'll _always_ be there for you when you need me. I promise."


	18. Chapter 18

"We've gotta talk."

House glanced up in surprise as Wilson poked his head around the door just long enough to speak a few words in a sharp, ominous voice before moving on down the hallway toward his own office. When he looked away from the doorway, the two remaining members of his team were casting curious glances in his direction, waiting for some explanation.

House shrugged, putting an exaggeratedly mysterious tone in his voice as he echoed, "We've gotta talk," and headed for the door.

He caught up with Wilson in the hallway, easily falling into step with him and waiting for Wilson to speak. He swallowed back the sick feeling rising in his throat at the dark look on Wilson's face, and the terse sound of his voice when at last he spoke.

"Special board meeting today. Only one item on the agenda: you."

House tried to keep his tone light and unconcerned, determined not to acknowledge his disastrous speech, and the troubling fact that it had given Vogler the final impetus he needed to declare all out war on him at last.

"Well, enjoy the bagels. I'm untouchable."

"Huh. Right." Wilson did not sound convinced in the least.

"Any vote to revoke my tenure has to be unanimous. I've got you and maybe even Cuddy," House insisted, trying as hard to convince himself as to convince Wilson.

Convincing himself was far the easier task of the two.

Wilson kept arguing as they neared his office, insisting that the situation was far more serious than House was willing to admit. Unwilling to face the severity of the consequences of his actions, House kept making light of the situation, trying to avert the lecture he knew Wilson was on the verge of giving before it could begin.

"Vogler's smart," Wilson insisted as they stopped outside his office. "He's got some plan to get you."

"Does it involve candy? Because I'm a sucker for chocolates…"

Wilson threw his office door open with unexpected force, causing it to bang against the wall as he stalked inside. House hesitantly followed him, uneasy with the level of anger Wilson was displaying, yet unsure of what he had done to provoke such a reaction, and too curious to walk away without finding out.

Wilson was all too willing to tell him.

"Fine, House. That's just great," he snapped, resentment dripping from his words like acid. "Laugh it up; make it a great big joke. In the mean time, I'll be cleaning up your mess – just like I always do."

House frowned, eyes downcast in shame. His tone was grudging, almost sullen, as he offered a tentative apology. "I… didn't mean to…"

"Just… don't." Wilson's voice was suddenly tired, defeated, as he raised one hand to cover his face, holding the other up toward House in a halting gesture. "House, just… just get out. Contrary to your obvious opinion, I have a very important meeting to prepare for."

House opened his mouth to protest again, but then thought better of it. Dejected and subdued, he nodded silently and walked out of Wilson's office, closing the door behind him.

***************************

It didn't take long for House's latest patient to distract him, at least temporarily, from Wilson's displeasure with him. As the day went on, he became more and more wrapped up in solving the mystery, saving the patient, until he had almost forgotten about the critical board meeting entirely.

When it turned out that his patient had small cell lung cancer, he paged Wilson, but received no response. Impatient, House made his way to Wilson's office, not caring for the moment about Wilson's mood as he barged in just as he usually did, already speaking before the door was even open.

"Listen, Vogler's all about clinical trials. The hospital's chock full of them. There's got to be something for small cell lung cancer…"

His voice trailed off as he noticed what Wilson was doing, and a cold sensation started in the pit of his stomach. Wilson was tossing the contents of his desk drawers into a cardboard box on top of the desk. Glancing around the room, House noticed that the bookshelves were already half-empty of the personal belongings that usually cluttered them.

"What are you doing?" House asked, a note of dread in his voice.

He was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

"I got sacked."

Wilson's voice trembled slightly with frustration, and the words were accompanied by a slow, disbelieving shake of his head as he continued to load his personal possessions into the box.

"But you didn't do anything," House protested, indignation in his quiet voice. "All you did was…"

"Vote to keep you," Wilson finished for him, glancing up to meet House's eyes.

The cold accusation there was staggering, and House felt a hard lump form in his throat. He swallowed, trying to dislodge it, his eyes downcast as he found that he couldn't bring himself to hold Wilson's quietly seething stare. Still unwilling to accept the fact that things had actually gone this far, House kept his voice as calm and light as possible as he replied in a tone of derisive disbelief.

"So he's getting rid of every board member who votes to keep me around?"

"Yeah," Wilson sneered, the cool anger in his voice chilling House's blood. "Every one of us."

"Just you?" House's voice was barely over a whisper.

"Yeah."

Wilson didn't so much as look at House as he continued packing his things. House felt lost, bereft, at the thought of Wilson leaving, losing his job due to House's recklessness and stubborn pride. Wilson was still quiet and calm, but House heard no trace of the tenderness and affection he craved in the dangerously soft, angry voice of his lover.

_But why should there be? I just cost him his job. God, he'll _never_ forgive me for this…_

Grasping at straws for a way to make the situation not as bad, House persisted, "But you're only off the board, right? They couldn't have gotten unanimous approval for _you_." Not waiting for a response, House continued with a forced laugh. "So you're off the board. Big deal. Frees up Wednesday nights for bowling…"

"_Damn it_, House! Does _nothing_ I do matter to you?"

Wilson finally exploded, throwing down the papers in his hand into the box hard enough to make House jump, startled. House tensed as Wilson moved swiftly around the desk, closing the distance between them in an instant. There was no time to react – and House probably wouldn't have known how to, anyway – as Wilson grabbed him by the collar and slammed him backward, hard, against the filing cabinet behind him.

House drew in a sharp, breathless gasp of pain at the impact of the hard metal handles on the cabinet against his spine, biting back a groan when his breath returned – just in time for Wilson to yank him forward and slam him back again with brutal force.

"No, it's _not_ just the board, House! I just sacrificed my _job_ for you, you useless piece of _shit_!" Wilson snarled in his face. "I've only got two things in my life that work for me, House: this job, and this stupid, screwed up relationship – and neither mattered enough to you to give one lousy speech!"

His hands raised in front of him in an instinctive gesture of submission, struggling to speak through the sharp, searing pain in his back, House replied in a soft, trembling voice.

"They matter. If I could… could do it all again…"

He winced, biting off his words in pain as Wilson released him with a harsh shove, taking a step backward and looking him up and down, his lips curled in an expression of obvious contempt.

"You'd do the same thing," Wilson concluded – and House could not deny it. A moment of tense silence was broken by Wilson's quietly furious voice, as he turned away from House and back toward his desk. "You disgust me. Get out of my sight."

Shaken by Wilson's unexpected violence, devastated by his cruel words, there was nothing for House to do but to obey. Too ashamed even to look at Wilson, House made his way slowly and painfully out the door and down the hall to his own office.

_I've lost Wilson, and in a few hours, I'll have lost my job – everything that matters to me. But for the moment, I've still got a patient… and that means I've still got work to do._

House threw himself into his patient's case again with fervor, grateful for the distraction it provided – preventing him from having the time to think about what had just happened… what Wilson had just done to him.

************************

Eventually, House had to go home.

Fortunately, Wilson was not there when he got there.

House winced as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and slid the button down shirt from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. He turned, trying to look over his own shoulder at the throbbing spot on his back. Finally, by opening the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet and positioning it at just the right angle to the larger mirror on the wall, House was able to get a good idea of the damage Wilson had done.

He drew in his breath sharply in surprise when he saw the two large, dark purple bruises around his spine, spaced about a foot apart – the distance between the two handles on the filing cabinet. House bit his lip as he turned away from the mirror, hissing at the sharp pain that accompanied the movement. He bent down slowly, awkwardly, to pick up his shirt and take it back into the bedroom, where he hung it up before moving to sit down on the side of the bed facing away from the door. He rested his head in his hands, drawing in a deep, shaky breath and letting it out slowly as he tried to make sense of his madly swirling thoughts.

_He hit me… except… not _hit _me, exactly… but still… he hurt me… I can't believe he actually _hurt_ me… but… I _did_ cost him his job… no wonder he was angry… I should have just made the stupid speech, and then none of this would have happened… but… that doesn't make it okay… doesn't give him the right to…_

The soft sound of a gasp behind him drew House from his thoughts, and he turned quickly to see Wilson standing on the other side of the bed, staring at him through wide, stunned eyes. The swift motion caused a sharp stab of pain to go up his spine, and House's mouth twisted into a grimace as he lowered his head, turning away again in an attempt to conceal his pain from Wilson.

The attempt failed.

He was aware of Wilson's slow, cautious approach, but didn't move or otherwise acknowledge him as Wilson climbed carefully onto the bed, kneeling behind him. House tensed but did not pull away as he felt one of Wilson's hands slide up his bare arm. However, as the fingertips of Wilson's other hand ghosted over the surface of the bruised, tender flesh on his back, House instinctively jerked away, his voice hoarse and edged with fear.

"_Don't_…"

"Shhh, hold still," Wilson cut him off in a voice of stern concern, gripping House's arm tightly to hold him in place. "Let me look."

House wasn't sure why he obeyed – but he did. He felt a shudder pass through him as Wilson's fingers traced the edges of the bruises on his back, but Wilson's hands were gentle now, and seemed to be taking great care not to hurt him.

"Wow," Wilson breathed, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. "I… didn't mean to…" His voice trailed off for a moment. When he finally continued, there was a tremble of rueful near-laughter in his voice. "You really made me angry, House."

The words struck House like another blow, driving the breath from his lungs. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his eyes focused on the comforter beneath him as he struggled to find his voice. His mind was a muddle of confused, conflicting thoughts and emotions, as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

_My fault… if I hadn't gotten him fired… but… he can't just hurt me because he gets angry… he can't just _do_ that because he feels like it… But if I'd given the speech… if he hadn't just lost his job… he would never have…_

"I… I'm sorry," he whispered at last, his words tentative and uncertain.

Wilson moved across the mattress to sit down beside House, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he gently urged House to turn and face him. "I'm sorry, too," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just… I thought I'd lost _everything_, House… and I just… wasn't thinking…"

House turned his head away, lowering his eyes uncomfortably.

"… hey… look at me," Wilson gently insisted, one firm hand turning House's chin, forcing him to meet Wilson's eyes. "I was wrong," he clarified, his voice intent and certain. "I _haven't_ lost everything… not as long as I've still got you." He paused, his eyes solemn and troubled as he studied House's expression and added in a voice of quiet, restrained urgency, "I _have_… still got you… haven't I, House?"

House looked away, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat, before he slowly nodded.

"Of course you do," he whispered. "You… you've _always_ got me."

Wilson's shoulders slumped with relief, and a smile broke out on his face as he let out a shaky sigh. "Let's not let this happen again, okay? Let's never let this happen again."

House shook his head slowly in agreement, yielding to Wilson's advance as he pulled House closer to him and kissed him tenderly. Wilson clearly wanted more than a mere kiss, but he was gentle and considerate of House's injury, unwilling to cause him any more pain, and House found himself feeling strangely grateful for that thoughtfulness as the kiss deepened, intensified.

_I'm lucky he even wants to be with me at all, after what happened to him today because of me… It was my fault, not his… I cost him his job, and he still wants me… _

When one of Wilson's hands accidentally strayed across the bruised, sore part of House's back, he stifled his reaction to the spark of pain caused by the touch, determined not to give Wilson any more reason to be displeased with him.

He had made enough mistakes for one day.

_No matter what, I won't screw this up… not again…_


	19. Chapter 19

"Come on," House whined, following Cuddy out of her office. "The one good thing that came out of Vogler's annoying presence in this hospital – the one thing he made me do that I might have done anyway – and you're going to make me _undo_ it?"

Secretly, House was thrilled with Cuddy's latest decree. Of course, he couldn't let _her_ see that.

It might get back to Wilson.

"It wasn't fair for her to lose her job. In fact, if she decides to pursue it, she has a valid lawsuit," Cuddy insisted, her voice hushed to preserve some modicum of privacy, now that the conversation she thought she had finished in her office had followed her out into the hallway. "You're going to go to her and offer her job back. She may not even want it. She may already be working somewhere else. But regardless, you are going to make the offer."

"Fine," House muttered, grabbing a chart off the stack at the counter as he prepared to complete his clinic duty for the day. "But that doesn't mean I have to pretend that I actually _want_ her to come back."

************************

"I want you to come back."

"Why?" Cameron demanded, her arms crossed over her chest.

House tried to deflect when his pager went off, tried to distract her by turning the question around on her, but Cameron refused to be dissuaded from her original inquiry. She stood there, resolute, searching eyes locked onto his.

"Why do you want me back?"

House sighed, looking away. He knew exactly what it was she wanted to hear – and also knew that he could not give her that. He wanted her back because she was a valuable member of his team, which had not been functioning well at all in the week or so that she had been gone. He missed the unique perspective lent to the differentials by her presence, and wanted to restore his team to the way it had been before Vogler.

He knew that Cameron was hoping for a reason much different and more personal than those.

"Because you're a good doctor," he honestly replied.

Cameron looked disappointed. "That's it?"

"That's not enough?"

House countered, meeting her gaze, counting on her embarrassment about her unrequited feelings to back her down. Apparently Cameron was not the least bit embarrassed about said feelings.

"Not for me. Go deal with your plague."

House stood there, blinking in surprise when the door was slammed in his face. He had honestly not expected her to turn down his offer. Disappointment warred with practical reason in his mind, as he tried to determine the best course of action from that point.

_Maybe it's for the best. After all, I wasn't looking forward to explaining to Wilson why I offered Cameron her job back – Cuddy's orders or not… I wouldn't want him to figure out that I actually _want_ her to come back._

As he walked away from Cameron's door, however, House reconsidered. After all, Wilson hadn't lost his temper once in the past week. In fact, he had gone out of his way to be affectionate, to cater to House's desires. He had cooked his favorite meals, watched the movies and television programs House wanted to watch, and been the most tender, attentive lover House had ever been with.

_Yeah… because he knows he owes you. Because he knows that what he did is reason enough for most men to leave him. Let him think that you're actively trying to get Cameron back on your team, and _then_ see how loving and affectionate he is._

House swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his stomach queasy with apprehension.

Wilson did not even know yet that Cuddy had ordered him to hire Cameron back.

_But that's the perfect excuse… He doesn't ever have to know that I actually _want_ to hire her back. Assuming I can convince Cameron to change her mind, Cuddy's orders are the perfect cover. If she tells me I _have_ to hire her back, I don't have much choice, do I? Wilson can't get mad at me over that._

Reassured by his line of reasoning, House determined to find a way to convince Cameron to return to his team – and a way to keep Wilson from knowing that he had convinced her.

**********************************

That afternoon, House was dismayed and unsettled to find that Wilson had already arranged several interviews with prospective replacements for Cameron. Wilson seemed quite pleased with himself, eager for House's gratitude and approval for the steps he had taken to help House deal with the absence on his team, so House tried to appear appreciative as Wilson ushered the first candidate through his office door.

He couldn't bring himself to mention that, per Cuddy's orders, the position was soon to be filled again, by the same person who had just vacated it.

House quickly found a reason to reject the applicant – a young doctor fresh out of medical school who thought himself to be much more of a rebel than he actually was. Wilson seemed vaguely irritated that the candidate had been rejected so quickly, but admitted that House had a point.

Of course, the next applicant, who happened to be a pretty, intelligent young doctor with the wit and sarcastic banter skills to easily hold her own with House – Wilson immediately rejected. In the middle of their conversation, he abruptly spoke up, pointing to something vague and indiscernible in her file.

"I'm sorry, it appears you're somewhat… overqualified for this position."

"Over-qualified?" she echoed in disbelief. "But you said you were looking for…"

"Really, I'm sorry," Wilson insisted, setting down her file and picking up her purse, pressing it into her hands as she rose slowly to her feet. "Quite frankly… Dr. House really can't afford you."

As he spoke, he shot House a meaningful, warning look, and House rolled his eyes in irritation as Wilson's usual jealousy reared its head again. Once he had ushered the latest candidate out into the hall, Wilson closed the door firmly and turned to face House, leaning against the door and resting his head against it, his eyes closed as he left out an impatient sigh.

"So… what was wrong with that one?" House asked, his voice carefully even, and he waited until Wilson looked at him to continue. "Besides the fact that you think she's prettier than you?"

"What was wrong with the last guy?" Wilson countered without hesitation. "Besides the fact that he wasn't as pretty as Cameron?"

"Wilson…" House's voice held a weary note of frustration, as he rested his head in one hand, shaking it slowly. "This is ridiculous. It has nothing to do with the fact that he was less attractive than Cameron." He hesitated a moment, letting out a soft, rueful huff of laughter before confessing, "It has to do with the fact that he's _not_ Cameron."

"_Excuse_ me?"

The frightening edge to Wilson's suddenly calm, controlled voice made House's stomach lurch, and he looked up at Wilson warily, eyes wide as he rose from his chair. Suddenly, House wasn't comfortable with his disadvantage of being seated while Wilson was standing. In fact, Wilson was already heading toward him with slow, measured steps, his head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I-I didn't… mean that the way it sounded," House clarified, hating himself for the slight tremor that had somehow found its way into his voice. "It's just… God, I hate this…" He looked up to meet Wilson's eyes again, swallowing slowly and drawing in a deep breath as he tried to steel himself for Wilson's reaction. "I… I have to tell you something."

Wilson's expression was one of forced patience, a tight, insincere smile on his lips as he slowly, expectantly crossed his arms over his chest.

"Go ahead."

"I… have to hire Cameron back."

"_What_?"

House winced slightly at the thunderous fury in Wilson's low voice, his eyes downcast as he offered a hurried explanation.

"It wasn't my idea. Cuddy said I have to offer her her old job back, because it wasn't fair of Vogler to take it from her, and she has grounds for a lawsuit if she wants it, and of course Cuddy's all about protecting the hospital from any potential lawsuits even if Cameron is the last person on the face of the planet who probably still has an ethical objection to the idea of gratuitous lawsuits, but I really don't have a choice, because Cuddy's making me hire her back, okay? I didn't want to, I just… don't have any option on this."

Wilson was quiet for a long moment, clearly trying to process House's rushed explanation. House felt his sickness intensify with every second in which Wilson did not respond, dreading the cold, frightening anger of which he knew Wilson was capable. Something about Cameron and her attraction to House had the ability to throw Wilson into a rage in an instant, and House realized all at once that his every muscle was tensed, his breath quick and shallow, as he waited for the inevitable explosion that would surely follow his announcement.

It didn't come.

"Damn it," Wilson muttered, falling into the chair opposite House's desk, raising one hand to momentarily shield his eyes as he let out a heavy sigh. "Just when I thought we were rid of her."

As he slipped gratefully back into his own seat, limbs trembling with relief, House didn't dare venture to point out that he had never really wanted to be rid of her in the first place. Instead, he murmured a quiet assent, shaking his head in false dismay.

"I know, right?"

"Cameron's not going to sue. Cuddy just wants to humiliate you, just like she always does. She's forcing you to do this because she knows you don't want to do it."

House looked up at Wilson sharply, surprised by his assessment of the situation – to find that Wilson was watching him closely, a calculatedly studious expression on his face. House felt a chill of apprehension flow through him, when he realized that Wilson was waiting to judge his reaction to his words.

"That must be it," House agreed readily, nodding as he lowered his gaze to his desk. "Her way of saying, 'Just because Vogler's gone doesn't mean I can't make House jump through hoops'. Bitch."

Wilson let out a soft hiss of disgust, and House felt that he had passed the test. "I wish she'd just leave well enough alone. You could have just hired a new fellow, and everything would have been fine." He was quiet for a moment, thinking, before he looked up at House again and asked, "What did Cameron say when you talked to her?"

Thinking fast, well aware that he would have to talk to Cameron again to convince her to accept her old job, but not wanting Wilson to know that, House replied, "I haven't actually talked to her yet. I was planning on going by there after work today."

Wilson nodded slowly, taking that in. After a moment, his expression brightened as he looked at House with hopeful eyes.

"Well, who knows? Maybe she'll turn you down. Could be that she's already found another job."

****************************

"I already accepted a position somewhere else."

House paused in what really amounted to little less than outright begging, frowning at Cameron's unwelcome words. "With who?" he demanded.

"Yule, at Jefferson."

"Unaccept it."

"_Why_?"

Cameron's tone was meaningful, her gaze piercing as she studied House's reaction, and he found himself looking away under her careful scrutiny. Immediately, he fell back into his default position and began listing every possible valid reason he wanted her to come back, except for the reason she wanted to hear. And when he was finished, he was not surprised to hear the flat response that fell from her lips.

"Not good enough."

Unwilling to give up, House persisted. "Want more money? A car allowance, better parking space?"

"Dinner."

House blinked, startled by the single, apparently nonsensical word. Sensing his confusion, Cameron continued with a smirk.

"And not just a meal between two colleagues. A date."

_Great. Out of all the things she possibly could have asked for, she has to ask for the one thing I can't give her…_

Stalling, he echoed her terms in his own words.

"You'll come back to work for me… if I go out on a date with you."

"Yes."

_But… who says I _can't_ give it to her? It's just one date… doesn't have to be anything more than casual conversation. Doesn't have to include so much as a goodnight kiss. And Wilson never has to know about it. I can ask her to keep it quiet. I'll take her to a nice restaurant, pay for the meal, and it never has to go any farther than that…_

"Okay," he agreed, wondering even as he spoke if he was making the right choice. "It's a deal."

_It's a simple business transaction. Everyone gets what they want. Cuddy gets Cameron back at work, _I _get Cameron back at work, she gets her one simple little date, and Wilson gets… the peace of mind that comes with not knowing about any of it. He'll never know, and she'll be back on the team where she belongs, and we can all move on and forget about all this. Everyone's happy._


	20. Chapter 20

Wilson resisted the urge to cast a resentful glare through the glass walls of House's office as he passed it, but couldn't help sending a suspicious look in Cameron's direction. She was back at work as Cuddy had decreed, and it wasn't as if House could have done anything to stop it… but that didn't mean that Wilson had to be happy about it.

He passed House's office and headed toward his own, not trusting himself to enter the room as long as Cameron was there. Thus far, Cameron had no idea of the way he really felt about her, and he was afraid that if he tried to speak to her now, he would not be able to keep his false front in place convincingly. The loss of this most recent battle was too fresh in his mind.

And Wilson _hated_ losing.

Just as Wilson turned the corner leading to his own door, he heard House's office door open, and the voices of House and his staff as they headed out into the hallway.

"Dr. Cameron…"

Wilson paused just out of sight, his curiosity piqued by the sound of House's voice, and waited to see what he had to say to his newly rehired employee.

"… I'd appreciate you keeping the terms of your new contract to yourself. Don't want everyone clamoring for the same perks."

Wilson frowned.

_What perks? Not only does she get to be with House, day in and day out, free to put the moves on him anytime she feels like it, but there are _perks_? What did Cuddy make him give her?_

"What perks?"

Wilson waited with bated breath when he heard Chase's voice echo his own question. There was a playful note of amusement in Cameron's voice that fed Wilson's suspicions when she replied.

"Nothing you'd be interested in."

"So it's not money, then? Office space, insurance, parking… anything he could offer you, we'd be interested in," Foreman insisted.

Wilson strained to hear Cameron's response as House's team moved away from his hiding place, their voices gradually fading.

"He agreed to go on a date with me."

Wilson's stomach dropped at those words, his eyes widening as he drew in a sharp breath in disbelief. The three of them kept talking, but Chase's and Foreman's stunned reactions of excited interest were drowned out by the roaring of jealous rage in Wilson's ears.

_He wouldn't… he wouldn't cheat on me… would he? _

As a nurse passing him in the hallway cast him a look of concern, Wilson was suddenly painfully aware of how conspicuous he looked, standing against the wall in the hallway – undoubtedly looking pale and shocked and sick, if the way he felt was any indication. He hurried down the hall to his own office, closing and locking the door behind him. He paced back and forth across the carpet, consumed with his own ever-darkening thoughts.

Of course _he'd do this to me. She's younger and prettier and coming on to him every second of every day… and he didn't _have_ to agree to go on a date with her. Cuddy wouldn't have insisted on that. No, that was all House._

Unable to contain the fury boiling up in him at his lover's betrayal, Wilson stopped his pacing to seize his empty coffee cup from his desk, spinning around to hurl it against the wall, and relishing the sound as the glass shattered and fell to the floor.

_And he's going to be sorry. He's _mine_… and when I'm through with him, he won't forget it…_

**************************

House could not remember the last time he had felt so awkward and uncomfortable.

He sat across the table from Cameron – dressed up, well-groomed, and on his best behavior – pretending to listen as she recited her theory on why she believed that he had feelings for her, while trying his best not to present any false sign that she might take to mean he returned those feelings. He felt a little sick – had, in fact, ever since Cuddy had approached him and made it obvious that Cameron had failed to keep their date a secret.

_If Wilson finds out… if he hears about this… he's going to be so furious… I'll never be able to explain this well enough to satisfy him…_

House tried to put the troublesome thoughts out of his head, but found it difficult to focus on anything else. Realizing that he was likely to become so lost in his own thoughts as to completely miss what Cameron was saying and make it obvious that he wasn't really listening, House forced himself to focus on her words rather than his own worries.

"I have one evening with you," she said softly, a warm, hopeful smile on her lips. "One chance – and I don't want to waste it talking about what wines you like or what movies you hate. I want to know… how you feel… about me."

House hesitated, trying to think of an answer that would minimize the risk at which he had placed his relationship with Wilson by coming out with Cameron in the first place. He decided at last on a sort of veiled honesty that would reveal just enough to cause her to back off.

"Actually… I don't feel much of anything about you, one way or the other," he bluntly confessed. He held her bewildered gaze as he explained quietly, "I'm… actually… involved with someone."

Her wide eyes quickly lowered to the table, and she swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Her voice trembled with hurt and anger as she retorted at last, "You couldn't have mentioned that _before_ I wasted my time going out on this date with you… thinking that I might actually have a _chance_ with you?"

House was quiet for a moment, his head lowered self-consciously as he answered with quiet, brutal honesty.

"Not if I expected you to come back."

Cameron suddenly raised her eyes to his again, searching and intent. "So… I never had a chance with you." There was a note of dubious disbelief in her voice.

"No," House admitted. "You're… not my type."

"Do I know this person? Does she… work at the hospital?"

House grimaced, shaking his head. "Let's not go there, Cameron. There's no need for…"

"Well, I'd like to at least know what the woman who beat me out is like – what kind of competition ruined my chances…"

"There never was any competition." The sharp note in House's voice silenced Cameron's half-teasing remarks, and her brave attempt at a smile faded as she waited for him to go on. "You never had a chance, because… I never had any desire to be someone's pet project."

Cameron's eyes widened in stunned indignation. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

House drew in a slow breath, preparing his thoughts, wanting to deliver a blow sharp and true enough to silence her questions and protests and leave her quietly nursing her wounds for the rest of the evening.

"You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect. That's why you married a man who was dying of cancer. You don't love. You _need_. And now that your husband is dead, you're looking for your new charity case. That's why you're going out with me. I'm twice your age. I'm not great looking. I'm not charming. I'm not even nice. What I am is what you need. I'm damaged."

Cameron's reaction was precisely what House had hoped for. She grew quiet and uncomfortable, and they spent the next hour in an awkward silence that he far preferred to her unsettling questions.

**************************

By the time he walked into his apartment that night, House was exhausted from the sheer tension and discomfort of the evening. He didn't bother to turn on the lights as he walked into the living room, shedding his coat and scarf and tossing them aside onto the piano stool. Wearily, he went to the sofa and sat down, laying his head back and closing his eyes.

Wilson had told him that afternoon that he had a speaking engagement this evening that would keep him out late, so at least he didn't have to worry about explaining his whereabouts. When he got home, Wilson would simply assume that House had arrived home at the usual time.

That thought had barely passed through House's mind, when he suddenly felt the firm, tight pressure of rough leather wrapped around his throat, heard the shallow breath of someone crouched behind him. When in alarm he tried to sit up straight, to resist, he felt a strong, familiar hand grip his shoulder and hold him back against the sofa.

Wilson's low voice in his ear was the source of both relief and apprehension.

"Shh… don't, it's okay… it's just me…"

House swallowed hard against the restriction at his throat, reaching up at trembling hand to feel it. He recognized the smooth surface of a belt, either his or Wilson's, pressing hard enough against his skin that he could not get his fingers behind it, but not quite tight enough to prevent him from drawing breath.

"Wilson…" he gasped out, his voice a ragged, uneven whisper. "… w-what…?"

"_Shh_," Wilson repeated, and a slight tug backward on the belt brought House's tentative protests to silence. "I've been thinking a lot, tonight… about your patient. Harvey, was it? And his… his _mistress_, I suppose… and… and trust… what it might be like… to trust someone that much…"

As he spoke, his voice a hushed enticement in House's ear, Wilson's hand slid down from House's shoulder, fingertips tracing a teasing trail across his stomach. House found himself aroused despite his apprehensions, desire mingling with fear, when Wilson uttered a dark, tempting question.

"Let's play a game, House. Do you trust me?"

House's mouth was dry, his heart racing, as he nodded rapidly, his breath ragged and shallow.

"Yes…"

Wilson maintained his grip on the belt around House's throat, holding it just taut enough to keep House's fear and arousal high, without quite restricting his breath, as he moved around to kneel on the couch beside House. He pushed him forcefully down on his back, one fist clutching the belt behind House's head, the other deftly working the buttons on the front of House's shirt.

"Do you have any idea…" Wilson murmured, punctuating his words with feather-soft kisses against House's chest. "… how much you mean to me? How… important… you are to me?"

House gasped as Wilson's free hand fell to the button in the front of his pants, and his hands automatically moved to help him.

"_Don't_!"

Wilson hissed, his tone low and sharp, and a rough jerk on the belt caused House to flinch, immediately withdrawing his hands and holding them up in front of him in a gesture of submission. Wilson held the belt tight for a few moments, and House gasped uselessly, struggling for breath that would not come, until at last he eased the pressure again, smiling down at his lover in dark satisfaction.

"Let me… take control," Wilson urged him softly, as his hand slid down the open front of House's pants. "It's so… important… that we're able to… trust each other… Do you understand that?"

House nodded, impossibly aroused by the dark seduction of Wilson's voice, his touch, and even the frightening, fascinating game in which he was engaging. He was a little uneasy, but the whole thing was far more sexy than scary.

"Do you trust me, House?"

House nodded again, whispering hoarsely. "_Yes_."

Wilson rewarded the desired response with a soft, tender kiss to House's lips, his tongue dipping teasingly between them, then retreating when House tried to return the kiss. Wilson smiled down at him, something dark and unfathomable glittering in his eyes.

"If you asked me," Wilson whispered against his throat, his hand stroking House gently through the thin cotton of his underwear, driving him to greater heights of arousal, "I'd say the same thing… that I trust you, House."

House closed his eyes, relishing the tender words and overwhelming pleasure of his touch.

And all at once, everything changed, as Wilson uttered words that sent a shiver of dreadful understanding down House's spine.

"Until today, anyway."

House opened his eyes, looking up at Wilson with a startled question on his lips; but before he could voice it, Wilson jerked the belt tight around his throat, cutting off his breath and holding it tight. His hand on House's rising erection tightened as well until his grip was painful, but House's cry of anguish was utterly stifled by the leather that stopped his breath.

"I know what you did tonight, House," Wilson whispered into his ear, a cold, nasty smile on his lips. "I know who you were with."

House's eyes widened with alarm, and he shook his head in dismay, struggling to draw a breath to explain. Wilson eased his grip on the belt for a moment, and House sucked in a desperate draught of oxygen, immediately trying to speak in a trembling voice.

"Wilson… I didn't…"

"_Shut up_," Wilson snapped, pulling the belt tight again, jerking House's head back painfully against the arm of the sofa.

House raised his hands to pull uselessly against the belt at his throat, fingers only succeeding in scratching his own flesh, as they could not find purchase. Wilson reached his other hand up to roughly grasp House's hands and yank them down, trapping them between their bodies.

"I'm going to tell you something," he murmured softly, raising his hand to stroke House's cheek in a gesture utterly incongruous with the violence his other hand was perpetrating. "And you're going to listen to me, House… aren't you?"

House nodded frantically, struggling against the darkness at the edges of his vision, his trapped hands instinctively trying to push Wilson off him, but in vain.

"If you ever cheat on me, House… if you ever betray my trust again…" Wilson's voice was hushed, frighteningly controlled, as he met House's panicked gaze and whispered with a soft smile, "I'll _kill_ you. Do you believe me?"

House nodded, desperate to appease Wilson – and in that moment, genuinely in fear for his life. Wilson smirked, shaking his head slightly at House's response.

"No," he said in a voice of mild amusement. "No, I don't think you do, House… you don't believe me…"

House nodded again frantically, his lips parted in a desperate, useless gasp that brought no air to his burning lungs. He felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes, as his body struggled for survival. There was a burning ache building in his chest, a deep, swelling sensation of panic as he uselessly tried to free himself from Wilson's oppressive weight above him.

He was so thoroughly disoriented and terrified that he was not fully aware of it as Wilson's demeanor changed, didn't realize that anything had happened at all until Wilson all at once released his grip on the belt, removing it and tossing it to the floor.

"House…" Wilson spoke with gentle urgency, his voice suddenly filled with dismay as he rose up off of House, returning to him the use of his hands, now numb and trembling. "… you didn't _really_ believe me, did you? It was just… just _role play_… just part of the game! You _know_ that, right?"

House stared at him, bewildered, utterly confused, his shaking hands clutching at his bruised throat. He drew back against the side of the sofa, shaking his head slightly, relief warring with the remnants of his fear. Wilson's behavior now was so startling, so difficult to process in relation to the violence he had just committed against him, that he couldn't make sense of it.

"I… I didn't… I mean… I couldn't… breathe…" he gasped out, regarding Wilson with wary uncertainty.

"Well, of course you couldn't." Wilson's voice held a rueful, troubled half-laugh, as a grimace crossed his lips. "That was… sort of the point, wasn't it? Of… that kind of game?"

House was shaking, trying to understand what had just happened, not sure what to believe. Now that it was over, he couldn't be sure whether or not Wilson had been serious, or simply using real events for the purposes of his game. He studied Wilson's face, searching his eyes, and finding regret and compassion there, where moments earlier he had seen only menace and fury.

Uncertain and still afraid of incurring Wilson's wrath for the ill-advised date with Cameron, House tried again to explain in a tentative, subdued voice.

"I… I didn't… cheat on you. It was just so she'd… come back…"

"I know," Wilson sighed, waving a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes. "I know you don't care about her." His expression grew solemn, his hand coming to rest on House's arm as he added, "But… you should have told me. You shouldn't have lied to me, House."

"I-I know," House agreed, nodding hurriedly, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. He was trembling with relief, yet still afraid to let Wilson get too close. He wasn't entirely sure that the danger had passed. "I-I'm sorry…"

"Come here," Wilson murmured gently, reaching out and drawing House into his arms in a comforting embrace. "It's all right, I know… I didn't mean for you to… God, House, I didn't think you'd take me _seriously_…"

"I… I don't know… what happened," House whispered. "I just… I'm sorry…"

He was so confused, so unsure of what had just taken place between them… and therefore desperate for the reassurance Wilson was offering. Wilson's hand rose to stroke soothingly through his hair, holding him close and murmuring quiet comfort in his ear. House felt himself relaxing into Wilson's embrace with a trembling shudder, his fears subsiding as the sensation of Wilson's former violence faded into memory.

"It's okay… it's okay…"

Then, for just a moment, Wilson's hand closed in House's hair, pulling sharply, and House tensed at the brief sting of pain, his chest tightening with cold fear as Wilson leaned in to speak close to his ear in a very soft, certain voice.

"But… you _won't_ lie to me again… will you, House?"

"No," House whispered without hesitation, shaking his head, eyes lowered uncomfortably. "No, I won't… I promise…"

"Good," Wilson murmured, his hand softening in House's hair, his tone becoming soothing again. "I know you won't. I love you, House… I love you so much…"


	21. Chapter 21

"Dr. House, there's a patient…"

"I'm out of here. Take it up with Cuddy."

House brushed past the clinic nurse trying to talk to him, headed toward the classrooms to teach the class Cuddy had assigned him. As much as he had given her a fight over it, he was actually somewhat looking forward to it. If nothing else, it certainly beat dealing with one more annoying idiot in the clinic – including the nurse currently trying to stop him.

"Greg."

A familiar voice stopped him in his tracks, his heart giving a funny little lurch at the sound. House turned slowly toward the source of the voice… then froze, staring in wonder at a vision from his past, one he'd thought to never see again. His voice was soft, momentarily unguarded in his surprise, when he finally found it again and was able to speak.

"Hi, Stacy."

House was scarcely aware of what was said in the conversation that followed. He did manage to register the fact that Stacy was married now – and the fact that that fact hurt. He didn't tell her that he was with someone now; he didn't really have time amidst her anxious pleas for his help for her new husband. He wasn't really sure how she would take the knowledge that, following their break-up, his next relationship was with a man – especially considering the fact that she'd never known he had any attraction to men at all.

_Then again, _he thought with a strangely bereft feeling, _why should she care? She's got someone else now._

He did, too, he reminded himself. And he was happy with Wilson.

Still, he was surprised by the sheer amount of emotion he still held for Stacy, upon seeing her again like this, so unexpectedly. As she described what she needed from him, House found himself caught up in the memories of the years they had spent together. So much had changed in his life since she had left, and her sudden appearance now brought it all back to him with startling clarity.

The thought of Wilson's reaction to Stacy's return never once crossed his mind.

************************

Wilson stood in the doorway of an empty exam room, watching in stunned silence as House was reunited with his former lover. He felt no anger or betrayal as he watched House speak with her; it was clear that House was as startled by her presence as Wilson was.

That by no means meant that he was pleased that she was there.

_This is what I've been trying to keep from happening, for months now… and yet, here she is… What is she doing here? I told her he wouldn't help her… so why did she come anyway?_

He waited until House walked away, ducking back into the exam room until he had passed, before stepping out and making his way toward Stacy, intent on getting the answers to his questions – and heading off a potential disaster before it could begin.

"Hey!" He greeted her with a practiced tone of pleasant surprise. "What are _you_ doing here?" His warm, disarming smile took any accusation from being perceived in his rather versatile choice of words.

Stacy returned his smile and moved forward to give him a brief hug, drawing back with an apologetic grimace.

"I know, I know you told me not to bother," she acknowledged with a rueful shake of her head. "But I couldn't help it. I couldn't _not_ come, not if there's a chance that he can help Mark…"

"I know." Wilson's tone and expression were sympathetic as he rested a supportive hand on her arm. "But like I told you before… don't count on his being willing to help. I… don't think he's over it yet – everything that happened between you two. I wouldn't be surprised if he… won't even discuss it with you, to be honest."

"He _was_ kind of evasive," Stacy admitted with a discouraged sigh. "He looked at his test results, but wouldn't give me a straight answer. I think he's really… not even remotely interested in helping."

Wilson shook his head ruefully and sighed. "See, yeah… I'm sorry to tell you this, Stacy… but I think you're wasting your time."

"You're probably right," Stacy admitted, raising a hand to her face in a gesture of weary frustration. "He didn't talk as if he wants to help me at all. Maybe I should just…" Her pensive voice trailed off, and she shook her head before looking up to meet Wilson's eyes again.

There was a resignation in her gaze that Wilson found quite satisfying.

"We've had a long flight… a long _day_…" Stacy explained. "We'll stay the night in our hotel, and then… we'll head home in the morning."

************************

Another strategic conversation – this time with House during the break he gave his class – assured Wilson that the problem with Stacy would soon be a thing of the past.

House had no idea that Wilson had seen or talked to Stacy, so it was a tremendous relief to Wilson when House brought up the subject on his own, unsure of how he should respond to Stacy's request. Wilson advised him not to get involved, warning him that spending time around Stacy would only be an unnecessary torment to himself – a painful reminder of past events best left buried.

House reluctantly agreed that he was probably right before returning to teach the second half of his class.

Still feeling unsettled and a bit insecure, Wilson somehow found his way into House's classroom, where he was surprised and a little amused to find House's team already assembled, listening with rapt interest as House told his own personal story, veiled in the guise of a random example.

Wilson watched him closely, noting every nuance of expression and voice, perceiving things that no one else would have noticed, as both he and House were transported back in time by the familiar story.

He knew that House loved him, and didn't want anyone else; and yet, Wilson also knew that Stacy had meant more to House than possibly any other relationship he had ever had. He realized with an uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach, as House recounted the events that had eventually led to their break-up, that the simple act of telling the story was probably bringing up a lot of House's old feelings for Stacy again.

_But that's over now… He's mine now, not hers… and I'm going to make sure that everybody knows it. If she thinks she still has a chance with him, she's wrong. I'm not letting go of him without a fight…_

***********************

Nearly an hour later, House was making his way slowly back toward his office, deep in thought.

Although he wasn't sure he would ever fully forgive Stacy for her well-intentioned betrayal all those years ago, time had lent a certain perspective to the whole affair that it had lacked at the time. House still believed – would always believe – that Stacy had violated his rights and done permanent damage to his quality of life when she had made the decision to have the surgery done against his wishes.

Now, however, it was easier to consider the reasons that had led her to do so.

_She hurt me… betrayed my trust in a way that I can never get past… that's why our relationship was doomed from that moment… but… but she did it because she _loved_ me. She genuinely wanted to save my life, to do what was best for me…_

The image filled his mind of Stacy that morning, the desperation in her eyes as she had pleaded with him to help her husband. He had told her the truth. He really was not sure whether or not he wanted his replacement in her life to live or die. Stacy's new husband did not matter to him – but that was not important.

What was important was that he mattered to _Stacy_.

_She made a mistake – a huge, unforgivable mistake – but she did it out of love. I spent every day of our relationship after that paying her back for the mistake. Maybe it's time I paid her back for the love behind it._

As he neared his office, House took out his cell phone and swiftly dialed a number he still knew by heart. He waited through four rings and her voicemail message, until the tone sounded, prompting him to speak. His voice was soft and even, careful not to betray too much of the tumultuous emotions he was feeling, as he gave her his answer to the desperate plea she had made.

"Stacy, it's Greg. I've got an opening for ten tomorrow morning. Make sure your husband isn't late."

He hung up the phone and replaced it in his pocket as he opened the door to his office, where the members of his team were getting their things together and getting ready to leave for the day. He glanced at his watch, surprised to see how late it was, before taking a seat at the conference table, leaning forward and resting his weary head in his hands.

"You okay?"

Cameron's concerned voice was heard almost immediately, and House made no effort to disguise his grimace of irritation as he lowered his hands and looked up at her with a false smile.

"Just fine," he replied. "Just a little tired. Non-stop lecturing for half the day, telling people where they're wrong and what they need to do to fix it…" He shook his head in mock amazement. "How do _you _manage it, day after day?"

Hurt, Cameron turned away.

_But at least she shut up…_

House was about to tell his team to go ahead and leave for the day, as they had no patient to deal with, and it was nearly time to go, anyway, when he heard the door to his office open and glanced up with irritation to see who it was.

Irritation faded into pleased surprise – and then almost immediately into anxiety – when he saw that it was Wilson.

House knew that Wilson didn't want him to take Stacy's husband's case, and he wasn't looking forward to explaining to him why he had decided to take it after all. However, Wilson hadn't seemed too upset by the fact that Stacy was there, and had actually seemed somewhat understanding about the confusion that her sudden arrival had caused House to feel.

_I can make him understand. It's really not his decision, anyway. It's mine. He'll just _have_ to understand…_

That particular train of thought broke off in surprise when Wilson walked up to House and placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him with anticipation in his dark eyes.

House glanced uneasily at his team, who were beginning to cast curious glances in his direction, clearly wondering why Wilson was there, and why he was actually _touching_ House – something he had never done in public, not even back when they were nothing more than friends.

"Hey, guys… there's something I think you should know."

Wilson began in a voice of nervous excitement, and Cameron, Chase and Foreman turned expectantly toward him, waiting for him to go on. All at once, House was sure he knew what Wilson was going to say, and a mixture of pleased pride and uneasy apprehension filled him.

_Surely he's not going to… He was the one who didn't want to say anything…_

"I don't see any reason to hide it. We've been keeping it pretty private, but I don't feel like we have anything to be ashamed of, so I'm just going to say it." Wilson drew in a deep, trembling breath, then blurted out his announcement. "House and I are together. In a relationship. We're a couple."

A tense, stunned silence followed his announcement, as House's team stared at them in disbelief. House fell back on his instinctive defense of sarcasm to break the silence.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure 'House and I are together' covered it, Wilson." He smirked up at his lover before rolling his eyes impatiently in the direction of his team, who was still staring. "And pick your jaws up off the floor, please. It's not exactly a big deal – and I'm sure it's not _that_ big of a surprise."

"Actually," Chase admitted after a moment, finally breaking the spell of silence that seemed to have fallen over the team, "I'm just surprised it's taken you two this long to admit it."

Cameron turned startled eyes toward him, then looked at Foreman, whose face was slowly breaking into a grin, as he nodded in agreement. It had clearly not occurred to him before that there might be more than friendship between House and Wilson, but now that Wilson had said it, it seemed like something that he should have known already.

Cameron turned away, face flushed with embarrassment, as she realized that she was apparently the only one taken completely off guard. House thought back to the remarks she had made on their date, and realized that in the context of Wilson's revelation, those words probably seemed far more humiliating to her than they had at the time.

"Well, go on, get out of here," he ordered at last, his tone light in an attempt to ease the last of the tension from the room – most of which was coming from Cameron at this point. "We don't have a patient, so that gives you all plenty of time to go home and come to terms with your varying levels of homophobia before returning to work tomorrow."

Once his team had gone, Wilson sat down in the chair beside House, reaching out to take his hand as he gave him a conspiratorial grin.

"I give it until noon tomorrow before the whole hospital knows."

House returned his grin, though a bit uneasily at those words. Wilson's smile faded, and his hand slipped from House's hand to rest on his knee, sliding slowly upward in an intimate gesture of reassurance.

"I didn't think you'd mind. You thought we should tell everybody from the start. You don't mind, do you?"

_Maybe that's a question you should have asked _before_ you told everyone._

But House didn't voice the sarcastic thought that sprang to his mind. After all, he didn't _really_ mind. Much. Wilson was right, as usual. House had wanted to be open about their relationship from the start; Wilson had insisted that it was wiser to keep it quiet, at least for a little while. So why should Wilson assume that House had changed his mind in the past few months? He _hadn't_ changed his mind. If Wilson had asked him, House knew that he would have agreed that it was perfectly fine to reveal their secret relationship.

Still – it would have been nice to be asked.

"We have nothing to be ashamed of, House," Wilson reassured him, scooting his chair closer to House and reaching out his free hand to run affectionately through House's hair. He glanced at the hallway beyond the glass wall of the conference room with a little laugh, shaking his head as he added, "I don't care who knows that we're together, House. I _love_ you. You are… _amazing_, and incredible and brilliant and mysterious and… and I want everyone in this hospital to know that you're mine – that _I'm_ the guy who finally won your heart."

House felt his misgivings swallowed up in a warm sense of security and belonging. He felt a suspicious lump forming in his throat, and forced his lips into a smirk as he blinked back the moisture that had risen to his eyes.

"Do you have any idea…" he began in a soft, intent voice, "… what a girl you are?"

Wilson blinked, startled by the unexpected mockery – and then both men burst into spontaneous laughter born of relief and affection. Wilson impulsively pulled House into his arms, pressing a firm, possessive kiss to his lips, one hand gripping his hair as he deepened the kiss before finally drawing back.

"I love you," Wilson repeated, his dark eyes searching House's gaze for the awaited response.

When House finally spoke, there was a sort of shy hesitation in his soft voice. "I… I love you, too."

Wilson smiled, his eyes lighting up with pleasure at the coveted and rare declaration from House's lips.

_Now there's no denying it, no reason to hide it anymore. He's mine. He knows it, I know it, his _team_ knows it… and soon, Stacy will know it, too. _Everyone_ will._


	22. Chapter 22

"Where are you going?"

House stopped by the open apartment door, cringing at Wilson's mildly interested question. His back was turned to Wilson, who was seated on the sofa watching television, so thankfully Wilson missed the expression on House's face as he gave what he hoped was a convincing answer.

"Work. Just got a page. My patient just went into cardiac arrest." As he spoke, House reached for the door, hoping to escape without any further conversation.

"I didn't know you _had_ a patient right now." Wilson's tone was casual and unconcerned.

He turned in the doorway, giving Wilson a smirk as he added, "Don't worry. It's given me an idea, so in the next hour he'll either be stable or dead. Either way… I won't be long."

Wilson nodded, returning House's smile and watching in silence as the door closed behind him. He waited a few moments before rising from the sofa, retrieving his coat and scarf from the coat rack, and following House out the door.

***************************

"You _dosed_ him!"

House couldn't help grinning at the indignant outrage in Stacy's voice as the paramedics loaded her husband onto a stretcher and headed toward the entrance to the restaurant. He was actually quite pleased with the success of his scheme, in spite of – no, partially _because_ of – Stacy's horrified reaction.

He shrugged, giving her a look of mock innocence. "I told you I'd check him out. I was a little worried they were gonna get here before he passed out. Would've been tougher to get him to drink." He hesitated, considering for a moment before venturing further. "I'll give you a ride. We can talk."

Stacy was less than impressed.

She shot him a dirty look and followed the paramedics out to the waiting ambulance, leaving House standing there watching, a satisfied smile on his lips despite her rejection.

A moment later, the smile faded completely, and House's stomach lurched as a firm hand came to rest on his shoulder and a low, familiar voice spoke softly next to his ear.

"Why don't _I_ give _you_ a ride? I'm pretty sure _we _need to talk more than you and Stacy need to talk, don't you think?"

House found that he couldn't reply, his mouth too dry to form words at Wilson's unexpected presence. He had deliberately kept from him the fact that he had decided to take on Stacy's husband as a patient – and had thought that he had done a pretty good job of it.

Apparently – he was wrong.

"Come on."

Wilson's hand slid down from House's shoulder to grasp his arm, pulling him insistently toward the exit, hard fingers digging painfully into his flesh in a punishing grip. Feeling a little intimidated and self-conscious in the middle of the crowded restaurant, House did not resist or even venture to say a word until they had passed the crowd in the parking lot surrounding the ambulance and made their way down the side street where Wilson had parked his car. His voice was hesitant and trembling slightly when he finally ventured an explanation.

"Wilson… I was going to tell you…"

His words were cut off abruptly as Wilson shoved him hard, slamming him against the side of the car and throwing him off balance, a breathtaking wave of sharp pain shooting up his spine. Before House could recover, Wilson grasped his collar and shook him hard, snarling furiously in his face.

"Don't lie to me again, House. You've done enough of that lately. I _knew_ you weren't over her! But I didn't think you'd go so far as to go _behind my back_ to see her…!"

"No," House insisted, shaking his head, pressing a cautious hand against Wilson's chest in a tentative attempt to place some space between them. "No, it wasn't that. I just wanted to help her…"

"If that was the case then you would have told me the truth to begin with!"

Wilson snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light from a distant streetlamp as he moved in closer to House, his hands braced against the car on either side of his head, hemming him in and making his heart race with a sort of claustrophobic panic. House's eyes instinctively lowered as he tried again in a cautious, subdued voice.

"Wilson… I was afraid that you'd react…" He could not quite stifle a soft, humorless laugh at the irony of the situation. "… pretty much just like this. I just think… after everything that's happened… I _should_ help her…"

"Damn it, House, would you just _shut up_!"

Wilson cut him off with a low, frustrated hiss, slamming his fist against the roof of the car in an outburst of fury. House flinched at the gesture as well as the sound so near to his ear, momentarily certain that the blow was intended for him. His breath quickened as Wilson shifted closer to him, grabbing a handful of his hair and speaking in a low, commanding voice that he felt as much as heard.

"Just _shut up_… and get in the car."

He released his grip on House abruptly and took a step back, a challenging look in his dark eyes as he opened the door and waited for House to obey. A tense moment passed between them, as House swallowed hard, torn between indignation at Wilson's rough handling of him and demeaning tone… and disgust with himself. After all, he _had_ lied to Wilson, and Wilson had every reason to be suspicious, considering the depth of the relationship House and Stacy had once had.

In the end… House obeyed.

They were almost home when House finally broke the heavy silence to offer a tentative objection.

"I… already agreed to help him. And… he _is_ sick. If I back out now… that's gonna look a little strange, don't you think?"

Wilson remained silent for a long moment, and House realized all at once that every muscle in his body was painfully tense, anticipating a furious reaction to his words. Finally, Wilson replied in a low, taut voice of careful control, as if the reaction House feared was there, bubbling just beneath the surface, and it took everything in Wilson's power to restrain it.

"Fine. Go ahead and treat him. You've already taken it this far, so go ahead and finish the job and cure him."

Wilson was silent until he had parked the car. House opened the door and started to get out, but Wilson caught his arm and jerked him back, eliciting a startled yelp that he quickly stifled when Wilson leaned in close to his face, a warning look in his intent gaze.

"But stay away from Stacey. Otherwise I'll be forced to draw my own conclusions about your motives. Are we clear?"

House was unsure whether or not to take the words as a threat. He looked away, unable to hold Wilson's gaze, and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice subdued, barely over a whisper. "Yeah, we're clear."

**************************

The next couple of days passed in a flurry of activity, most of which House spent with an unsettled, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he tried to diagnose Mark's illness while coming into as little contact with Stacy as possible. Eventually, it all got to be too much, and he found that he just had to get away for a little while, to escape to a private place and think about his feelings for Wilson and Stacy and the whole confused mess. He was sure that he would find the privacy he needed on the roof, where he had often gone to think in times past. He was certain that no one would think to look for him there. After all, he hadn't been there in over five years.

Unfortunately, Stacy remembered that long ago.

House's immediate reaction was alarm to be with her, in what Wilson would certainly deem a compromising position. After a few minutes, however, he began to relax a little as he remembered that no one could see them up here. No one knew they were even talking; and that was all they were doing, after all – just talking.

House's emotions were in utter turmoil, torn between his past relationship with Stacy, which he knew could never again be what it once had been, even if he wanted it to be – and what he now had with Wilson, which was proving to be not quite as perfect as he had originally thought it to be.

When he left the roof, House was no less confused than he had been when he went there. His thoughts circling in murky, tumultuous circles, he made his way wearily toward his office – too caught up in his own troubled musings to notice that _he_ had been noticed.

Wilson's expression darkened with jealous rage when he saw House walk out of the same stairwell from which Stacy had exited just a few minutes earlier. His fists clenched at his sides in anger, twitching slightly with his intense desire to lash out and punish House for his betrayal – but he forced himself to wait.

_No… not now. Some things are better handled in private…_

**************************

"So how's your patient doing?"

Wilson waited to ask the apparently casual question until House walked into the kitchen where he was chopping vegetables for their dinner that night. House shrugged, not looking up at him as leaned against the counter, idly watching Wilson work, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

"Bitter. Paranoid. Resentful. But cured."

Wilson kept his eyes on his work as he persisted in a calm, level voice of feigned disinterest. "How's Stacy handling all of this?"

"Couldn't tell you." House's tone was a near-perfect match for Wilson's, betraying none of the muddled emotions with which he had been struggling. "I've been avoiding her, like you said. I've barely seen her at all the past couple of days…"

Wilson nodded in an almost distracted manner, and House relaxed a little at the indication that he had accepted his explanation.

An instant later, Wilson slammed the knife in his hand down into the cutting board, spinning around to face House with a hard, accusing glare. House took an instinctive step backward as Wilson moved slowly toward him, a cold, angry smile on his lips as he spoke in a dangerously soft voice.

"You wanna try _not _lying to me for a change, House?"

"I-I'm not…"

"Just stop it!" Wilson snapped, moving more quickly toward House, his fists clenched, his jaw locked in an expression of violent rage. "Just stop lying to me, House! I'm sick of it! You were on the roof with her, tonight, and you're gonna tell me you haven't even _seen_ her?"

"What, were you _watching_ me?"

House retorted in indignant outrage, his voice trembling as he continued backing away, his shaking hands behind him guiding his way along the counter as he kept his wide, wary eyes locked onto Wilson.

"I'm sorry, Wilson, but I can _talk to_ whoever I want…"

Wilson let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as House reached the corner of the room, and he continued closing the distance between them.

"Yeah, House. You can talk to whoever the hell you want. But what you _can't_ do…" He slammed his hand down against the counter behind House as he concluded, "… is _lie_ to me!"

"Okay… you're clearly not rational right now, so we're not going to do this…"

House's voice was trembling but firm, trying for derisive and mocking but not quite making it, as he tried to edge past Wilson, away from the counter; but Wilson grabbed his arm, jerking him back into place.

"Oh, yes, we are…!"

His heart pounding with fear, feeling utterly trapped, House tried to pull free of Wilson's grasp. "Get your hands off me…"

"I don't think so, House…"

Finally, House yanked free and pushed Wilson in the chest with both hands, not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to push him away and allow himself the room to move. Without wasting any more time in argument, House hurried toward the door to the living room, intent on putting some space between him and his lover until Wilson had calmed down.

Wilson had other ideas.

"Oh, no…" He let out a bitter, mirthless laugh as he swiftly caught up with House, grabbing his arm again and pushing him with his other hand, forcing him to back up toward the counter again as he lost his grip on his cane and it crashed to the floor. "… you are _not_ walking out on _me_…"

"You think you can _stop_ me?"

On the verge of panic, House struggled against Wilson's grasp, and finally managed to jerk free of his restraining hands – but with enough force to send himself staggering backward, careening around so that he was facing the counter again. Without the aid of his cane, he lost his balance completely and fell to the floor, smashing his face against the edge of the counter in the process.

Dizzy and disoriented, his vision darkened by the impact of the blow, House felt something hot and sticky running down into his eyes, and raised a shaking hand to wipe it away. Before he could, he felt another pair of warm, gentle hands on his arms, urging him to turn around.

"House… my God, what did you _do_?"

Panicked from pain and confusion, registering the sound of Wilson's voice as a threat, House tried to fight him off, flailing without sight to push his hands away.

"House, stop it." Wilson's voice carried an edge of impatience, but was soft with concern. "You're going to hurt yourself worse. Stop, let me look at it…"

House went still, breathing hard, tense and trembling as Wilson gently wiped the blood from his face, daubing gently at the cut above his eye where his brow had hit the counter. Wilson moved the cloth and carefully inspected the wound before heading toward the bathroom to get the first aid kit. Stunned, numb, House simply stayed where he was until Wilson returned.

When Wilson reached toward his face again, he flinched, biting his lip, eyes averted in humiliation and shame, hopelessly muddled with his anger and hurt and confusion at what had happened.

"Hey, it's okay…" Wilson murmured soothingly. "It's okay… God, House, I just wanted to _talk_ to you…"

*************************

The next morning, House was getting out of the elevator when Cuddy found him. The apprehensive look on her face told him that she was not looking forward to discussing whatever it was she was about to bring up.

"I want to run something by you…" she began, falling into step with him as he walked toward the exit. She paused, frowning, as she looked at him more closely. "What happened to your face?"

House waved a dismissive hand. "I've _always_ been this sexy…"

"House." Cuddy's voice held a note of maternal warning. "Your eye. What did you do?"

"Cut it," House replied simply with a shrug. When Cuddy remained waiting for further explanation, he sighed and added, "Cripples with canes and icy sidewalks don't mix well."

Cuddy let out a heavy sigh of resignation, shaking her head in silent reproof – but apparently accepting his answer, as she decided to go on with her originally intended topic of conversation.

"Stacy's husband is going to need close monitoring at the hospital. And since we can definitely use her back here, I've offered her a job as general counsel."

House felt an unsettled sensation building within him, but kept his tone neutral. "Did she say yes?"

"Yes, but… I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first."

House did not hesitate before responding in a calm, decisive voice, without looking up at her as they reached the exits.

"No."

Cuddy frowned, surprised, stopping as House turned to face her, eyebrows raised as he waited for her acknowledgement.

"Okay, I… really thought you'd be too proud and stubborn to admit that it meant anything to you at all, and would therefore say yes," she admitted, finally meeting his eyes. "I actually already hired her back. She's going to be working here for the next few months, so… I guess the two of you will just need to find a way to get along."

She turned and headed back toward her own office, leaving House standing in the doorway with a sinking heart, wondering how on earth he was going to explain this development to Wilson.


	23. Chapter 23

House smiled to himself in malicious amusement, his back to the door, as a very offended but correctly diagnosed patient stormed out of the exam room in an outraged huff. He found the sound of the slamming door strangely satisfying as he crossed the room to pick up the patient's chart, then turned back toward the door to make his exit from the room – and from the clinic as well.

He immediately froze when he turned and realized that someone had entered as the patient had left.

Wilson.

And he did _not_ look happy.

"So Stacy's staying."

House's mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard, his eyes averted as he took an involuntary step backward away from Wilson. A cool smile of restrained impatience formed on Wilson's lips as he matched House's retreat, his arms crossed over his chest in obvious irritation.

"I can't help but wonder if you had anything to do with that."

House felt a cold tremor building in the pit of his stomach, his entire body taut with nervous apprehension. With a tremendous effort, he fought the impulse to back away, unwilling to reveal that much vulnerability. Still, he was trembling as he remembered the violent fury of Wilson's reaction a few days earlier, when he had caught House lying about talking to Stacy.

The idea of someone else spending any amount of time with House seemed to bring out the possessive worst in Wilson.

_But… he didn't actually _do_ anything… didn't hit me, or hurt me at all, really. I did that to myself. If I hadn't jerked away from him so hard, I wouldn't have fallen, so it wasn't really his fault. He hasn't _ever_ hit me in fact, so there's no reason to think that he will now…_

Despite his attempts at self-reassurance, House's voice was low and subdued as he responded cautiously to Wilson's subtle accusation. He couldn't quite keep a slight tremor out of his voice, however, as Wilson edged nearer to him, gradually closing the distance between them.

"I didn't. I… I told Cuddy I didn't want her to stay here, but she… didn't seem to care much what I wanted."

"Convenient," Wilson observed softly, a single speculative brow rising as he placed his hands gently on House's waist in a subtly possessive gesture. "Funny how that worked out for you."

"No," House protested, shaking his head, the tremor in his voice intensifying. "No, I really didn't want her to stay. I _told_ Cuddy that. I had nothing to do with it, Wilson, I swear. She just doesn't care what I think about it, but it's not _my_ fault if Cuddy thinks she should be here…"

"Actually… it is."

House flinched slightly as Wilson raised a hand to his face, only to gently brush his hair back with soft fingertips, a faint, thoughtful smile on his lips as he explained.

"I'm fairly certain that if Mark had been treated at a hospital in their hometown… or any other hospital _not_ within fifty miles of Princeton-Plainsboro… Cuddy would not be insisting that she accept a job _here_, now would she?" Wilson pointed out, his smile widening slightly at the trapped expression on House's face as he realized what Wilson was saying. "But you _had_ to be the one to treat him, didn't you? Had to be the big hero, solve the mystery… whatever. Either way, if you hadn't… he'd be recovering somewhere else, and Cuddy wouldn't have had the opportunity to hire her."

"No, he wouldn't be recovering somewhere else," House retorted, his voice quietly resentful. "He'd be _dead_."

House ventured a glance up at Wilson to see that his smile had faded completely, a cold anger visible in his eyes as his jaw locked in frustration, his hand stilling in House's hair. House's body ached with tension as he waited for the inevitable explosion, instantly regretting his careless words.

_Why have you always got to be such a smart ass? He's not going to like that… he's going to…_

All at once Wilson's anger faded into understanding, and he laughed softly, shaking his head in resigned amusement. His hand caressed affectionately through House's hair, coming to rest at the back of his neck as he sighed.

"All right. I'll give you that," he conceded. "You did what you had to do. You really can't do anything else. I understand."

House watched him uncertainly, holding his gaze until he couldn't any longer as Wilson leaned in and pressed a slow, tender kiss to his lips, his hand at the back of House's head holding him firmly in place in a subtly dominative gesture. House gratefully returned Wilson's kiss, his trembling hands rising to draw Wilson closer, overwhelmed with relief at the sudden fading of Wilson's rising rage.

When Wilson finally pulled away from the kiss to draw breath, he was smiling; but his smile faded again, this time with concern, as his gaze fell on the healing cut above House's eye, no longer sporting a bandage as it was scabbed over and well on its way to vanishing completely. He frowned slightly as he raised cautious fingertips to brush across House's brow, not quite touching the wound.

"You're so… impulsive. You react based on your instincts, without always thinking of the consequences beforehand. But… if you did any differently… you wouldn't be… well, _you._ The man I love."

Touched by the tender sentiment of Wilson's words, House readily surrendered when Wilson kissed him again, shifting nearer to pull House into his embrace, leaving virtually no space between them. Wilson's hands roamed slowly, seductively over House's body, edging up under the hem of House's shirt to brush his fingertips lightly against the sensitive skin of his stomach. House drew in a sharp breath at the stimulation, and Wilson smiled, pleased with his reaction.

His voice was low and hoarse with desire as he concluded softly, "Whatever issues that might create… I'm willing to deal with it. You're worth it."

House lowered his eyes, swallowing hard, filled with mingled emotions of relief and acceptance, but also guilt and embarrassment. Hesitantly, his voice barely over a whisper, he replied, "I… I'm sorry… I didn't realize that she would… that…"

"Shh," Wilson soothed him, his hand kneading slowly at the back of House's neck as he spoke in a hushed murmur close to his ear. "It's all right. Don't worry about it." He paused before adding in a voice of soft intensity, "I trust you, House. I know you can handle Stacy being here. It's not… ideal, for either of us… but I trust you."

House's shoulders shook slightly with relief as he allowed himself to relax into Wilson's embrace, letting his head fall to rest on Wilson's shoulder. His hands clutched Wilson to him with a quiet intensity of desperation, as if afraid that if he let go, he might lose Wilson for good. Most days lately, it seemed that he found himself torn between the fear of losing Wilson, and the fear of Wilson himself.

"It's… it's _her_ I don't trust, House," Wilson continued, his words measured and cautious. "I don't trust her motives for being here – not at all. But… we'll be fine… as long as you can try to keep your distance from her, okay? Just… don't let her get too close…"

House nodded without hesitation, without lifting his head from Wilson's shoulder – unwilling to leave the security offered by Wilson's embrace. He did not miss the subtle warning in Wilson's voice, but he was willing to abide by Wilson's wishes when it came to Stacy. She had moved on with her life, no longer wanted anything to do with him; and Wilson loved him – even if sometimes that love was masked by the anger House so easily caused in him.

Moments like this in which Wilson was loving and gentle, offering him the reassurance he had come to crave, were becoming few and far between these days.

_I'm lucky he still wants to be with me at all. No one else would be able to put up with my crap all the time, and still… still love me. If he loses his temper every now and then, even goes so far as to push me – doesn't it stand to reason, considering how much time I spend pushing _him_?_

House forcibly buried his worries and concerns, willingly losing himself in the affection and reassurance Wilson was offering. He determined to do what Wilson wanted and stay away from Stacy, to keep Wilson's jealousies from having any reason to arise. As long as he could do that, House knew that they would be fine.

For the moment, all was right in their world – and for the moment, that was all that mattered.

***************************

Unfortunately, House's resolution was swiftly broken when his next obsession struck.

Inevitably, the types of measures he had to take in order to treat the death row patient were exactly the types of measures that led to Stacy's involvement in his professional life. Despite his best attempts to avoid her throughout the day, she still managed to corner him as he was leaving his office after dispatching his team to run tests.

"Were you _trying_ to get me fired?" she demanded as she fell into step beside him, as determined not to let him as he was to escape. "If you didn't want me working here, why didn't you just say so?"

House shrugged, feigning unconcern. Although he was not thrilled with the idea of Stacy working at PPTH, he had no desire whatsoever to hurt her by saying so. "I just don't want you working here, in my office," he clarified, keeping his tone light. "But anywhere else in the building is fine. It's a big hospital."

Stacy frowned, hurrying her pace enough to pass House and turn around to face him, standing directly in his way so that he could proceed no further. He met her eyes for just a moment in irritation, ready to demand that she move; but as soon as he saw the searching expression in her eyes, he immediately looked away, uncomfortable.

_Crap… she's known me too long and too well…she's going to pick up on this in two seconds flat…_

"You really didn't want me working here, did you?" Stacy guessed, eyes wide with surprise – and just a little bit of hurt – as she studied his face. "House… _talk_ to me!"

"Oh, like _you_ really want to be working in close proximity with _me_," House retorted defensively, rolling his eyes. "You know as well as I do that this wasn't either of our first choice."

"I told Lisa that I didn't want to take the job unless it was okay with you…"

"Yeah, well, apparently she doesn't care so much about my feelings on the subject," House replied, his tone flippant and unconcerned. He hesitated for an awkward moment before attempting to somehow salvage the situation. "Doesn't matter now. Mark needs treatment during his recovery, and you need a job during that time. Anyway… we're both adults, and it's only a few months. We can tolerate each other for that long."

Stacy glanced down, a sad smile on her lips when she looked up to meet his eyes again. "We used to do a lot more than tolerate each other," she reminded him softly.

"Yeah." House's voice was quiet and deliberately even, not betraying any trace of emotion. "Things change."

"A lot of things, apparently," Stacy agreed, raising one perfectly groomed brow as her eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. She hesitated, as if unsure whether or not she wanted to go on, before adding, "The latest rumor is that you and _Wilson_ are the 'it' couple in the hospital these days."

House nodded. "Not a rumor." He paused, a cold smirk forming on his lips. "How does it feel to know that you turned me gay?"

Stacy blinked, hurt showing in her eyes for a moment before she managed to conceal it. Her cool smile did not quite mask all of her insecurity, however, as she replied, "I'm not sure that's quite how it works, House."

He was quiet for a moment, his expression softening with immediate regret for hurting her as he admitted, "It's not. I've actually… _always_ been attracted to… both men and women. Mostly women." He paused before confessing softly, "And… and Wilson."

Stacy nodded slowly, taking that in. "So, then… are you still attracted to _me_?"

House's eyes widened in surprise at the quietly blunt question, and he looked away abruptly, his head lowered as he took an unintentional step backward away from her. Despite his misgivings, he kept his tone light and mocking as he replied – though he couldn't help glancing anxiously around for any sign of Wilson as he spoke.

"Well, we're not together anymore, are we? So… if that answers your completely inappropriate question…"

"It _is_ completely inappropriate," Stacy admitted. "But…after all this time… I can't help but be curious. And… that _doesn't_ answer my question, and…" She frowned, her attention drawn abruptly by the cut over his eye. "… House… what happened to your face?"

Suddenly incredibly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, House swallowed hard, struggling to regain his composure enough to respond to her without arousing her suspicions. He steeled himself against any lingering affection he felt for her, determined to shut her down as swiftly and thoroughly as possible, to avoid any future such attempted third degrees. He raised his sharp blue eyes to meet hers with a malicious smile on his face as he answered in a cool, acid tone.

"Just like the way I treat my patients, and my romantic life, and pretty much every other aspect of my life now that you're no longer a part of it… that's none of your business."

Without another word he turned and walked away from her, not allowing himself to look back at the troubled frown that creased Stacy's brow as she watched him, a host of fledgling worries forming in her mind at House's strange behavior. She had known him for too long not to notice when something was not right – and there was no doubt in her mind.

House was hiding something.


	24. Chapter 24

"House. Need you."

Ordinarily House would have been pleased to run into Wilson in the clinic lobby, welcoming the distraction his company provided from the typical boredom that filled his clinic hours. Today, however, he knew that Wilson's words would only serve to divert him from his intended route: straight home and into his bed.

"Uh-uh. Forget it. I'm going home."

"Your hay fever getting worse?"

Wilson's tone was sympathetic as he fell into step with House, accompanying him toward the door. Made more irritable than usual by the fact that he felt like crap, House bristled at the soft, gentle tone of Wilson's voice, as if he was a small child that needed soothing.

"Boy, you must be a doctor and everything," he snapped, rolling his eyes.

"Two minutes, House. Please."

"No, the purple thingy on the file means that 'whoever' is one of yours, which means cancer, which means no way is it two minutes," House stated, stopping and facing Wilson, a single brow raised in challenge, daring Wilson to argue with his observations.

"Fine, I'm lying," Wilson sighed. "Thirty minutes."

"This morning you told me I should stay home and not even bother coming in…"

"But you _did _come in," Wilson pointed out. "And now I need you."

"I can't even think, Wilson." House heard the petulant, whining tone of his own voice, but couldn't find the energy to care. "I need to go home and sleep for a few hours…"

However, despite his words, when Wilson launched into a description of his young patients symptoms, House's mind and interest seemed to conspire against him to prove him wrong. He immediately recognized the mystery in Andie's case, and found himself tempted to solve it, no matter how miserable he felt.

And then, of course… there was Wilson.

Those pleading, chocolate brown eyes locked onto his, and House found his resolve crumbling under the double assault.

He sighed at last in resignation, snatching the chart from Wilson's hand and opening it as he turned and headed back toward the elevators. Wilson gratefully hurried to keep pace with him, darting into the elevator just before it closed. As soon as the doors shut, Wilson sidled nearer to House, slipping his arms around his waist, a warm, affectionate smile on his lips.

"Thank you," he murmured, leaning in to reward House with a tender kiss.

House drew away after a few moments, rolling his eyes and suppressing his own slightly giddy smile with an effort.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I hope you know you owe me now."

"Don't worry," Wilson assured him softly, punctuating his words with another kiss before reaching past House to press the emergency stop button, drawing back to meet House's surprised gaze with a wicked smirk. "I promise… I'll make it worth your while…"

******************************

The brief euphoria of Wilson's attentions in the elevator didn't last long.

House soon found himself racing against time to try to save the life of a patient that he knew he ultimately could not save. The best he could do for the dying girl was to grant her another year or so, which would no doubt be fraught with pain and fear and turmoil as she waged a losing war against her own body.

And as if that alone was not depressing enough, House found himself increasingly bothered by the automatic attitude of near-reverence that Andie seemed to inspire in any member of the hospital staff who ventured near her. It was as if she had somehow achieved the status of sainthood, through sheer virtue of nothing but the unluckiness that had caused her to develop her disease.

_Just because someone happens to get a raw deal and go through more hell on earth than any human being should ever have to does _not_ necessarily make him – or her – a hero. Becoming jaded and numb to the pain and not letting anyone see your fear and vulnerability isn't brave at all. It's the most deceitful form of cowardice…_

… _of all people… I should know…_

His mood had definitely shifted in the past few hours, certainly aided in its downward spiral by the knowledge that his young patient was in fact going to die, and there was nothing he could do to save her. However, House kept the darkest of his thoughts to himself as he caught up with Wilson to give him Andie's test results.

Regardless of the circumstances, or his opinion of Wilson's opinion of the girl, the imminent death of a nine-year-old child was always a heavy, sobering thought. However, House resisted his own emotions, refusing to fall into line with the love affair the entire hospital seemed to have fallen into with Andie.

He kept his tone cool and unconcerned as he explained to Wilson that they had not found a clot in Andie's brain, but he was still certain one was there, and performing exploratory surgery on her brain was not a legitimate option.

Wilson put the rest of the tragic puzzle together on his own.

"She's going to die."

Although the depth of sorrow in Wilson's voice was perfectly understandable, House just took it as further evidence of the self-delusion that seemed to have overtaken the whole hospital – and therefore found it intensely irritating.

"Well, the clot's not going to go away quietly," House replied with a deliberately careless shrug for Wilson's benefit. "It could blow at any time." He paused a moment, secretly relishing Wilson's stunned, disgusted glance. "Are you going to let them know?"

Wilson sighed, looking away, his eyes troubled and downcast. "I guess so."

House found himself suddenly overwhelmingly frustrated with Wilson's total preoccupation with the dying girl. Driven by the same perverse inner force that motivated so many of his inappropriate comments on a daily basis, he spoke in a quiet tone of deceptive innocence.

"Can I come with?"

Wilson paused as they turned the corner into a quieter, less populated area of the hallway, a puzzled frown on his face as he gave House a speculative look.

"To tell Andie she's going to die? That's very un-you."

House held Wilson's gaze unflinchingly, a note of subtle defiance in his quiet voice when he explained.

"Well, she's such a brave girl. I want to see how brave she is when you tell her she's going to die."

Wilson's eyes widened slightly in horror – before narrowing in such disgust that House felt his stomach clench, and suddenly found himself wondering if he'd actually gone too far this time.

A moment later, he got his answer.

The lightning quick, backhand blow of Wilson's fist across his face caught House completely off guard. Bright sparks of light obscured his vision as his cheek exploded in pain, and he stumbled backward against the wall, his cane falling from his hand with a soft thud against the carpet.

House struggled to regain his footing, his hands grappling against the wall for balance. He was vaguely aware as the roar faded from his ears that Wilson was advancing on him, furious; and his heart pounded with fear when Wilson paused long enough to retrieve House's cane from the floor before closing the rest of the distance between them.

House instinctively flinched as Wilson's free hand shot out to grip his throat, slamming him back against the wall with dizzying force. His other hand, white-knuckled and trembling, held the cane up in House's face, and for a moment, House was certain that Wilson was going to use it to strike him again. He struggled for breath against Wilson's restraining grip, shock and panic preventing him from actually resisting for a few moments.

And then, all at once, Wilson released him.

House slumped against the wall, one hand clasping his bruised throat, as he allowed himself to slide downward until he was sitting on the floor, staring up at Wilson through fearful, bewildered eyes. Wilson glared down at him, his gaze cold and impassive, House's cane still clenched in one taut fist. He opened his mouth as if to speak… then shut it again. When at last he spoke, his quietly furious words chilled House's blood and left him feeling alone and utterly bereft.

"You… _disgust_ me. I can't stand to look at you." He looked down at the cane in his hands, his lip curling in revulsion as he opened his fist and allowed it to drop to the ground, a few feet away from where House sat, before returning his gaze to House's eyes. "_Stay away_ from Andie," he ordered with a note of menace to his voice, hesitating before adding, "And stay away from _me_."

***************************

After Wilson disappeared down the hallway toward Andie's room, House just sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes. Some part of his mind was vaguely, gratefully aware that no one had been in the hallway to witness the scene; and no one happened by while he sat there, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

It hardly felt real.

_Wilson wouldn't… wouldn't ever… but… what I said… can I really blame him? _Anyone _would have hit me for saying a thing like _that_. _

House finally reached out to grasp his cane, struggling to his feet on trembling limbs.

_It was my fault… not his…_

By the time he reached his office, his cheek was sporting a dark and deepening purple bruise. His team – especially Cameron – seemed instantly concerned, their clamoring questions begging explanation for the bruise, and his shaken, unsteady demeanor.

House answered quietly that he had merely said the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time.

"Isn't that like… a daily occurrence for you?"

Foreman voiced what all three of them had to be thinking – and unwittingly reinforced House's idea that the entire thing was without a doubt _his _fault. He spoke cruel, biting words all the time, and this was not the first time that someone had struck out at him physically in response to those words.

It _was_ the first time that the one striking out had been his boyfriend.

_But… if we _weren't _together… his reaction would probably have been the same. Should I be exempt, just because we're a couple now?_

House was far more greatly concerned with the way that Wilson had walked away from him – as if so thoroughly repulsed by his remark as to want nothing more to do with him, at all.

_But… for how long?_

House didn't dare venture near enough to Wilson to ask.

There was only one option from that point on, he decided – one way to make it up to Wilson – and that was to find a way to save Andie's life. He pushed his fears about his relationship with Wilson, his desires to go to his lover and try to work things out, to the back of his mind, and focused instead on finding a way to remove the clot that was stealing what little remaining time the child had.

And, as usual – he succeeded.

When the procedure was complete, and they knew that Andie was going to live – at least a little while longer – exhausted and overwhelmed and scared out of his mind, House finally made his way toward Wilson's office. It was late, but the soft glow of the desk lamp was still visible through the blinds on Wilson's windows.

House wasn't sure whether to feel dread or relief.

He knocked softly, tentatively, on the closed door, and waited. Wilson's quiet, distracted, "Come in," made it clear to House that he hadn't looked through the blinds to see who was knocking. House swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly feeling like sandpaper, as he pushed the door slowly open and ventured inside. Wilson looked up from his work – and his eyes narrowed, his mouth tightening in irritation, before he returned his gaze to his desk without a word.

"You were right… what you said." House spoke at last, his voice unusually small and hesitant. He was quiet for a moment before adding, "I… I'm sorry."

Wilson remained stonily silent for a long moment, and House felt his stomach drop with the fear that he might actually be rejecting his apology not just for the moment, but for good. Just when he had almost decided to turn and go, however, Wilson's shoulders slumped slightly, and he rested his head in his hands for a moment with a shaky, frustrated sigh.

"You should be, House," he replied, but his voice sounded more weary than angry. He looked up at last to meet House's eyes, shaking his head slowly as he continued, "What you said was… _so_ out of line. There just… are no words for how… how cruel and insensitive and… and..." Wilson's voice trailed off, and he lowered his head again, allowing his hands to fall to his desk.

"I know," House readily agreed, relieved that Wilson was at least speaking to him. "I was wrong to say those things. I know that you… you care about her. You care about _everyone_." There was affection mingled with the soft amusement in those words. "And… I should have just kept my opinions to myself, for once. I'm _sorry_."

He was quiet a moment longer, while Wilson made one last attempt at remaining firm and impassive. Finally, House's quiet voice, breaking over a single unfamiliar word, seemed to break down Wilson's hard, unyielding demeanor.

"_Please_…"

Wilson rose to his feet, moving slowly around his desk until he stood in front of House, a bare foot of space separating them. He frowned as he took a closer look at House's bruised cheek, raising a tentative, gentle hand to carefully brush over its surface, regret visible in his dark chocolate gaze.

"House," he murmured, a weary sorrow in his voice, "why do you make me do things like this?"

House self-consciously lowered his gaze, swallowing hard as his face flushed with shame. "I… I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice hushed and thick with emotion.

"I'm sorry, too, House," Wilson whispered, edging in closer, his hand sliding around to cup the back of House's head and hold him near. "I really am. I didn't want to hurt you. You just… those things you said…" He shook his head again, visibly at a loss. "You just made me so… so _furious_ that I… I couldn't help it..."

"I know."

House quietly accepted Wilson's explanation, which was a nearly perfect echo of the explanation he had composed himself for his lover's actions. House was a man who was constantly on the edge of enraging just about every single person in his life. His mouth tended to get him in trouble, to enflame people's tempers – and every once in a while, he managed to push someone just a little too far.

This was simply one of those times.

_But he's forgiving me…_ House realized with an immense sense of relief as Wilson pulled his head down and into a slow, tender kiss. _He's not angry with me anymore, and he's not going to leave me. Anyone would have done what he did, considering what I said. I can't blame him for striking out. I brought this on myself._

House surrendered to Wilson's advances, willingly losing himself and his fears in Wilson's affection, allowing the pain of the earlier blow to be blissfully erased by the gentle touch of Wilson's hands as they roamed with expert precision over his eager, longing body. House deliberately banished his misgivings to some dark corner of his mind, insisting that the incident in the hall earlier that day was nothing that mattered anymore.

_It's over… he wouldn't have hit me if not for my stupid mouth… I'll just learn to watch my mouth, and try not to say anything that stupid again... and it will never happen again…_


	25. Chapter 25

House awakened the following morning to the pleasant sensation of soft, warm lips working their way slowly from his shoulder to his collarbone, then up again toward his throat. He smiled a little in his half-waking state, not yet opening his eyes, but allowing his head to fall back to grant his lover greater access. A soft little hum of enjoyment and approval sounded in his throat, encouraging Wilson's gentle advances.

Wilson let out a smug chuckle at House's obvious pleasure, kissing the side of House's neck slowly before murmuring against his skin.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to get up."

House pretended not to hear him – not because he was still tired, but because he wanted to give Wilson no reason to stop his enticing attentions. His smile widened slightly, but he kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep, although he knew he was not convincing Wilson for a moment.

When Wilson's searching mouth ventured a little higher, however, pleasure was immediately replaced with pain.

House winced at the dull, throbbing ache he felt as Wilson's lips closed over his throat, instinctively pulling away and opening his eyes. Wilson drew back as well, frowning as he looked down at the place that had obviously caused House such discomfort. When House saw the darkening of Wilson's expression, the regretful recognition in his eyes, he knew without the benefit of a mirror what Wilson had seen.

Suddenly, House's arousal was replaced with a self-conscious unease, and he instinctively raised a hand to cover the hand-shaped bruise he knew Wilson had found – the bruise Wilson had _given_ him – on his throat.

"It looks worse…"

Wilson observed with quiet concern before lowering his lips to House's shoulder again in a softer, more cautious kiss. House swallowed hard, tensing slightly, but lowering his hand and remaining still as Wilson's mouth worked its way around the injury while carefully avoiding it, unwilling to cause him any more pain.

Gently, Wilson pushed House over onto his back, his hands running slow, affectionately possessive hands up House's arms to his shoulders, then down again, while his mouth continued its soft exploration. Reading the wordless apology in Wilson's actions and wanting to reassure him that all was forgiven, House tentatively raised his arms to wrap around Wilson and return his embrace.

Wilson drew back at last, meeting House's faintly troubled gaze before leaning in to claim his mouth in a slow, leisurely kiss. He pulled away at last, smiling as he unabashedly studied House's face, then spoke in a soft, casually thoughtful voice.

"You're so gorgeous."

Self-conscious, House rolled his eyes, looking away. "Shut up."

"No, you are," Wilson insisted. "Your eyes… look _amazing_ today. I mean… they do _every_ day, but… today…" He shook his head slightly, appearing at a loss for a moment before suggesting, as if the idea had just occurred to him, "You should wear that blue turtleneck of yours today. It accents your eyes so well. Could you?"

House felt a cold knot settle in the pit of his stomach at Wilson's casual request. His voice was quiet and even when he spoke, his piercing gaze locked onto Wilson's all-too-innocent eyes.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

Wilson's smile faded, his expression growing solemn, even as he tried to defend his words. "It _does_ bring out your eyes, makes them look amazing…"

"Yeah. Maybe," House acknowledged with a slight, dismissive shrug, before pointing out, "That has nothing to do with why you want me to wear it."

There was a flash of annoyance in Wilson's eyes that set an uncomfortable quiver in House's stomach, but Wilson seemed more weary and defeated than angry when he sighed and looked away, shaking his head.

"You're right," he admitted. "It doesn't. So what?"

House blinked, startled by his careless words, and remained silent, waiting for his explanation.

"So I don't want everyone and their mom to know what happened between us yesterday. Is that so wrong? I don't want to answer all kinds of questions from all kinds of people who have no right to know our personal business." Wilson paused, a pensive frown creasing his brow as he studied House's expression. "Do _you_ want that? Do you really want to tell everybody exactly what happened?" He paused, adding softly, "_Why_ it happened?"

House looked away, suddenly embarrassed and guilty as he was reminded of his cruel words that had provoked Wilson's brief physical attack. He swallowed hard, shaking his head slowly in silent admission of Wilson's point.

"You already answered a ton of inappropriate questions about this…" Wilson's hand ran gently along House's cheek, just under the purple bloom left by Wilson's fist the day before. "But these other bruises weren't so obvious then. If people see those, that's just going to create more questions – and I'm not sure you really want to answer them – do you?"

Wilson's voice was quietly intimate, understanding, as he continued, "_I_ understand why you said it," Wilson went on softly. "It doesn't make it right – but I get it." He paused for effect before adding, "They might not, and… and I don't feel like they should have the right or the opportunity to judge either of us for our mistakes. Do _you_?"

A few minutes later, they rose from the bed and started getting ready for work.

House wore the blue turtleneck.

******************************

Stacy was on her way to Cuddy's office with some paperwork she needed filled out when she noticed House making his way through the clinic. She did a slight double take when she saw the familiar blue sweater he was wearing, the one that accented his already striking eyes so beautifully.

It had always been her favorite.

She stood there for a moment, watching him from across the room, her thoughts drawn helplessly back in time to a different place, when things were less complicated between them, and the two of them had been content with nothing more than each other's company. She was still watching when House turned and made his way back toward the elevators.

Immediately her sweet reminiscences were shattered when she saw the dark purple bruise on his cheek.

It didn't matter how long they had been apart; Stacy instantly felt a troubled concern rising up within her, and without hesitation made her way across the room, heading House off before he could push the button for the elevator.

"Hey," she greeted him with unusual gentleness in her voice, gesturing with one hand toward his battered face. "What happened?"

House waved a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes. "Same thing that happens every couple of months around here. I told some idiot that he _was_ an idiot, and he proceeded to prove it with his fist." He shrugged slightly, giving her a wry grin as he clarified, "Most of them prove it anyway; but most of them just use their words. Some people, though – they've just got to go that extra mile."

"Who was the patient?" Stacy persisted, an indignant frown on her face. "What did you say?" She shook her head, holding up a halting hand as she amended, "No, it doesn't _matter_ what you said. No patient has the right to hit you just because you say something he doesn't like…"

"Stacy…" House's voice was uncharacteristically patient, touched with a note of nostalgic affection, as he held up a hand for silence. "… just let it go." He gave her a weary, ironic smile as he added, "You'll get used to it. Happens all the time around here."

Stacy's frown deepened. There was something inherently troubling about House's ready acceptance of such physical assault at the hands of some random clinic patient – and there was something else, some underlying hint of something in his voice that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

All she knew was that she _really_ didn't like it.

"It shouldn't," she softly reminded him, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his arm in an impulsive display of concern and affection.

Stacy's concerns were only amplified when House abruptly pulled away from her casual touch, casting a nervous glance around them as if worried that someone might see her display of innocent affection. He took a hasty step backward away from her, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he shrugged and muttered uneasily.

"Doesn't matter. And anyway… it's none of your business…"

He side-stepped her and extended his cane to press the up arrow button for the elevator.

Stacy gave him an intently scrutinizing look, deeply troubled by the way he was suddenly avoiding her gaze, avoiding any form of contact with her, and seemed so utterly unwilling to discuss something that, according to him, was rather routine around this hospital.

_And it shouldn't be… No matter what he thinks, no one has the right to hit him because of something he says… He should let me file charges against the guy, let me try to do something about this…_

As the elevator doors opened, Stacy took a step into House's path, reaching out a hand to grasp his arm again in an urgent attempt to halt his retreat.

"House… _wait_," she pleaded. "Just stay and talk to me about this. We should do something. You don't have to let someone get away with treating you like that, even if it _is_ a patient…"

"Who said anything about 'have to'?" House retorted, slipping past her into the elevator and hurriedly pressing the 'door close' button before she had time to react.

Stacy stood there for a long moment, staring at the place where she had last seen House with a troubled frown on her lips. There was no question in her mind: he was acting very strangely.

_Something's off… something's going on that he's not telling me about… and whatever it is, it can't be good…_

**************************

If there was one person who would know what House was hiding, Stacy was certain that that person would be Wilson.

She found herself hanging around the clinic during his shift that afternoon, waiting for the right opportunity to voice her concerns. It was a bit awkward, and would require just the right timing and phrasing. After all, she was a married woman, and Wilson was in a relationship with House. It wouldn't do to appear concerned to a level inappropriate to hers and House's current lack of a relationship.

When she noticed House coming out of the elevators in the company of his team, nodding toward Wilson as he did, Stacy decided to take the slim opportunity afforded her and talk to Wilson.

"House is having lunch with his juniors now?" she asked with casual curiosity as she approached Wilson at the counter.

Wilson let out a soft huff of amusement at the suggestion. "No. Not a chance."

"Then where do you think they're going?"

"I have no idea."

Wilson was already giving her a curious look, and Stacy knew he was wondering about her sudden interest, but it was too late to back out now. If she had already given away the fact that said interest went beyond a normal professional concern, then she might as well get something out of it before giving up.

"Well if anyone would know, it'd be you," Stacy observed in a light, conversational tone. She shook her head slightly in bemusement. "Who'd have ever thought – you and _House_!"

"_I'd _have thought it." Wilson's voice was quiet and intense, and there was a grim smile of satisfaction on his lips. "_Did_ think it. For years. And then I made it happen."

There was something vaguely unsettling in Wilson's tone, though his manner still seemed pleasant enough, but Stacy ignored it for the moment, allowing a concerned frown to crease her brow as she turned to face Wilson with a hushed, conspiratorial tone.

"Can I… ask you something?"

Wilson's smile softened as he gave her an attentive, curious look. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

"Does he seem… strange, to you? Lately? Like… maybe something's wrong?"

Wilson let out a soft, rueful laugh, shaking his head. "A better question might be, does he ever _not_ seem strange. House and his many moods are the very _definition_ of strange."

"True," Stacy acknowledged with a vaguely impatient smile, "but… he's never been one to just sit down and take people's crap without taking up for himself. He said a patient hit him, in the clinic – and yet, he's not willing to take any action… to _do _anything about it. He says that kind of thing happens to him all the time – and yet he doesn't want to so much as mention it…"

"It _does_ happen all the time," Wilson confirmed, and Stacy thought she detected a cooler note to his voice as he added, "It's a hazard of being House." He paused, letting out a weary sigh. "House is always pissing people off. It stands to reason that every now and then one of them is going to lash out."

As Wilson shrugged and headed off toward his next patient, waiting in an exam room, Stacy watched him go with a cold sensation in her stomach, deeply troubled by his careless comment.

_And that… doesn't _bother _you, Wilson? He's your _boyfriend_… and it doesn't upset you that he's getting physically assaulted by his patients on a regular basis?_

Stacy sighed as she turned and made her way back toward her own office, resigning herself to the fact that she would get nothing more out of either House or Wilson for the moment. Although she cared far more deeply for House than she wanted to admit, given their troubled, painful history, Stacy knew that it was really none of her business, if House did not want to tell her about it.

Still, she was more certain than ever that something was definitely not right.

_And for House's sake… I'd better find out what it is…_


	26. Chapter 26

Wilson was headed toward House's office when he saw Cameron hurrying out the door, slamming it as hard as a pressurized glass door could be slammed and fuming as she stormed down the hall. Curious, Wilson made a split second decision and kept moving down the hallway, hurrying his pace until he fell into step with the furious young doctor. She was aware of his presence, shooting him a dark, dubious glare, but said nothing as Wilson walked along beside her for a few moments. When he spoke at last, his voice was mild and rueful.

"Should I be calling the authorities? Is there about to be a murder on hospital grounds?"

Cameron did not even crack a smile, though her expression softened somewhat as she let out a weary sigh. She rolled her eyes, reluctantly slowing her pace as they reached the elevators, and there was no way to escape Wilson's quiet concern.

"All I did was give the guy the TB test we should have given him when he first got here," Cameron muttered, raising her hands to brush them down over her eyes in frustration before crossing her arms over her chest, glaring impatiently at the lighted numbers above the elevator door. "It's what the patient has wanted and asked for since he got here. It's what we should have done."

"Patients are often wrong," Wilson pointed out with a casual shrug, watching with her for the elevator doors to open. "That's why we need House…"

"Yeah, well, this time, _House_ was wrong," Cameron snapped. "The TB test came back positive. _Positive_. Sebastian was right all along. He has TB, and that's what we should have been treating him for from the beginning, instead of playing _games _with his _life_…"

She continued to vent as she got into the elevator, and Wilson got in with her, partially listening to what she was saying, while wondering with amusement why it was that Cameron still considered him a friend to whom she could vent. Cameron seemed to have gathered not a hint of the rising animosity Wilson felt for her, and had chosen on more than one occasion to seek him out as a confidante.

_It's better this way, though… At least I know what she's up to…_

Wilson smiled slightly to himself as Cameron went on. The fact that she had used their patient's first name, and the rather personal tone with which she spoke of him, were not lost on Wilson's keen skills of perception.

_And right now, it looks like maybe what she's up to is building a more-than-professional rapport with House's latest patient… which might actually be a very good thing…_

"Did you know he actually asked me to go to work with him in Africa?"

Wilson blinked, somewhat startled by Cameron's admission. He shook his head slightly with a thoughtful frown of mild interest.

"Really?"

Cameron nodded, her lips tightened in a smile of grim self-satisfaction. "Really. He thinks I'd make an excellent addition to his team." She paused a moment, meeting Wilson's eyes as she stated her point. "I don't _have _to put up with this… with… the way he treats me."

Wilson's expression was sympathetic as he slowly shook his head in agreement. "No. No, you don't."

Cameron seemed surprised by his response. She frowned, troubled as she asked in a hesitant voice, "Do you… do you think I should do it? Do you really think I should go to work with Sebastian in Africa?"

Wilson shrugged, non-committal, his head tilted slightly as he pretended to consider the question. "It would be an excellent opportunity for you to… to really make a difference, on a larger scale than just a patient or so every week. It's… definitely something to consider."

Cameron nodded slowly, her expression pensive and distracted as she stepped out of the elevator on the bottom floor. Wilson nodded a silent goodbye to her as he pressed the button to return to House's floor, then watched her turn and go as the elevator doors slid shut.

_With any luck, she'll be right about the TB, and the patient will get better… and they'll_ both _be gone by the end of the week…_

*****************************

"I need a favor."

Wilson paused just inside House's office door, a single brow raised dubiously in response to the vague statement. After a moment, Wilson allowed his expression to shift into a suggestive smile as he crossed the room to where House sat at his desk, trailing a gentle hand through the back of House's hair in a slow, subtle caress.

"What kind of favor?"

House smirked as he raised his own hand to take Wilson's, gently lowering it, but not letting go of it. "Not _that_ kind," he answered regretfully, "but if you feel like throwing that in, too, later… I won't say no." House's smile faded and he glanced down at the floor, swallowing hard before he continued. "I, uh… need some money."

Wilson shrugged, unbothered by the request. "Sure. How much money?"

House hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath before responding, "Five thousand dollars."

Wilson frowned slightly, troubled by House's answer. "For what?"

"I need a new car."

Wilson's mouth quirked into the beginnings of an ironic smile. "And you're going to get one for five thousand dollars?"

House shrugged slightly, encouraged by Wilson's reaction. "New enough. Newer than mine."

Wilson's smile faded, his expression becoming thoughtful, as he leaned on the edge of House's desk, his fingers playing around the edges of his pockets. "And… you don't _have_… five thousand dollars for a car?"

House shrugged again, looking away. "Would I be asking if I did?"

Wilson considered for a few moments in silence. He knew that House was a man of many vices, and had a tendency to waste his money on various toys and fleeting entertainments; but it did not make sense that, given his high-paying position at PPTH, he would not have enough money to buy his own $5,000 car.

Still… _Wilson_ certainly had enough to loan the money without missing it.

The barely visible remnants of the bruise he'd left on House's cheek a couple of weeks earlier made Wilson's decision easier.

_He's forgiven me… I'm _sure_ he's forgiven me… but… it can't hurt to do something to ensure it… some… little gesture to further cement his devotion… to make sure he knows that he's better off _with_ me than _without_ me…_

The thought of how terribly out of control House's finances must be was troubling to Wilson, but he thought that he had greater concerns than that at the moment.

_There'll be plenty of time later to figure out why House needs the money in the first place – to help him get some kind of control over his finances so that this doesn't happen again – and I intend to do so, the first chance I get. But… for now…_

"All right," Wilson agreed, and House's surprised glance revealed that his agreement came much more easily than House had expected. "No problem. I've got an appointment in a few minutes, but come by my office in an hour or so, and I'll write you a check."

The gleam of excited anticipation in House's eyes – somewhat more than one would have ordinarily felt at the prospect of buying the type of car he could get for five thousand dollars – should have given Wilson a clue that all was not as it seemed. For the moment, however, Wilson decided to let the matter drop. There would be plenty of time later to handle House's problems with his finances, and to figure out what it was that he was hiding. For now, Wilson's priority was making sure that he had regained House's loyalty and trust.

The look of adoring gratitude on House's face, like a child who'd just been given an amazing Christmas gift, told Wilson that he had succeeded. House rose to his feet and shifted closer to Wilson, a soft kiss taking the place of grateful words… and Wilson left House's office feeling like the hero that he wanted to be in House's eyes.

*****************************

For his part, House was more than content with the results of his latest test of Wilson's devotion.

He arrived home that night before Wilson, who had stayed to work late in his office. As he walked through the door of his apartment, House pulled the check from his pocket, smiling down at it in warm satisfaction.

_He really does care… If he's willing to just shell out that much cash, just because I ask for it… he definitely cares. He must… really love me…_

A couple of weeks ago, House had had his doubts.

He'd tried to explain away Wilson's violent outburst, tried to justify it based on the outrageous words he had spoken to provoke Wilson's attack; but deep down, House had to wonder what Wilson's striking out at him physically really meant. He had spent the next few days in a state of insecurity and uncertainty, wondering whether or not he had already ruined everything between himself and Wilson with his careless words – if perhaps he had crossed a line, made Wilson decide that it really wasn't worth having a relationship with him, after all.

However, Wilson's demeanor had drastically changed almost immediately following his violent outburst. That very night, he was amazingly concerned and attentive, using his words and his body to express to House how very sorry he was that the entire ugly incident had happened at all. He was loving and affectionate, treating House with a gentle reverence that made him forget all about the pain of the blow he had taken.

As the bruises faded from House's body – the image of the incident faded in his mind, shifting in form and impact, becoming something much more reasonable and less ominous in his memory.

_Wilson didn't really mean to hurt me. It was just an impulse reaction, an instinctive response to words that simply crossed an emotional line with him – like the impulse to knock a man unconscious if he calls your mother a whore. He would've hit _anyone _who said it, not just me – and it didn't even hurt me that badly. He was probably subconsciously holding back because it _was_ me. I can't really blame him, even though he obviously blamed himself. He's been trying so hard to make up for it ever since… how could I _not_ forgive him?_

_There's hardly anything to forgive…_

And besides, House found that he was quite enjoying Wilson's efforts to redeem himself. Wilson was loving and attentive, willingly doing everything in his power to make House happy, to let him know how much he meant to him, how deeply he valued their relationship. The past few weeks had been the best for the two of them since their relationship had begun.

And the sex had never been better.

Judging by the reputation Wilson had earned among the nursing staff – and bits and pieces House had gathered from brief and utterly inappropriate conversations he had had with Wilson's ex-wives – House had already guessed that Wilson was an incredibly skilled lover.

Now… he was learning that first hand.

House was not exactly inexperienced himself, and yet he found that every night Wilson blew his mind again in some new and amazing way. Wilson knew ways to take him to heights and depths he'd never imagined with any other partner, pushing his limits and drawing out his pleasure until House thought he couldn't stand it for another moment, then finally pushing him over the edge, falling with him… and yet somehow always seemed to be there to catch him at the bottom.

True, Wilson's sexual appetites _did_ seem to run a bit toward the darker side. House quickly found out that Wilson liked to dominate in bed: liked to hold him down, liked to cover his mouth to silence him… liked to call all the shots.

It was sometimes a little alarming.

But then, Wilson never went so far as to actually hurt him; and House had to admit that Wilson's dominance was actually a little bit of a turn on. The more he thought about it, in fact, the more eager House was for Wilson to get home. He smiled, humming a little to himself as he put the check back in his pocket and crossed the living room to the answering machine, and the blinking red light announcing that he had messages.

House was only half-listening to the messages as he took off his coat and settled down on the sofa to wait for Wilson. The first couple messages were nothing more than the equivalent of junk mail – strangers trying to sell him a cruise, or a magazine subscription or something.

The third message caught his attention.

House glanced toward the answering machine, a wistful sadness filling him with the soft, familiar sound of his mother's voice – until the actual words she spoke sent his stomach plummeting to somewhere around his feet. House's mouth went dry, and he was suddenly trembling, sick to his stomach with dread.

"Hi, Greg, it's Mom. I just wanted to call to let you know that your father and I will be taking our vacation next week, and we'd really like to spend a little bit of time with you. We'll be in Princeton on Tuesday, so try to set aside a few hours. We'll go out to dinner or something. Anyway, I'll call back tomorrow and see if I can catch you to make plans."

There was a long pause that sounded awkward even on the answering machine, before her voice continued with soft hesitance.

"I… we love you, sweetheart. I can't wait to see you."

House was silent and still, his mind processing his mother's message, and the potential consequences of it. A visit from his parents was torture under normal circumstances – and the circumstances of his life these days were anything but normal.

His parents did not know about him and Wilson – and if House had his way, they never would.


	27. Chapter 27

"You're taking it back."

"But _Mom_…"

House let out an exaggerated whine, giving Wilson a wicked smirk over his shoulder as he settled himself more comfortably on the seat of the motorcycle he had bought with Wilson's five thousand dollars.

"How about we talk about this over dinner?" he suggested lightly.

Wilson was not amused.

"You know that we have some rather important dinner plans already," Wilson reminded him. "And I'm serious, House," he insisted, no trace of humor in his voice. "You're going to kill yourself! You're taking it back."

"Nice bike!"

House glanced over his shoulder again, grinning when he saw his team approaching. Wilson did not seem nearly so pleased to see them. For his part, House wasn't terribly concerned.

"Thank you." He aimed a teasing wink in Wilson's direction. "See? That's how you do it. Compliments, dinner…"

"What do you do with your cane?" Cameron asked as she studied House's new toy.

House cast an appreciative leer in Wilson's direction as he replied, "If he buys me dinner, he'll find out."

House's smirk of amusement at Wilson's expense faded into a troubled frown when Wilson was silent, an angry scowl creasing his brow as he turned and stalked away, visibly fuming.

House's team quickly distracted him from Wilson's mood, however, bringing his mind back to focus on their patient. The next few hours were spent busily working to find the cause of the illness, so House had little time to worry about Wilson – or the other cause for concern that was constantly in the back of his mind that day.

His parents were coming into town that evening.

House did his best to distract his team from the overwhelming curiosity that came over them as soon as they figured out that House's parents would be there, and was grateful for the fact that at least Foreman seemed more interested in their patient than in figuring out how House's childhood had influenced the mysterious enigma of a person he had become.

Chase seemed slightly more curious… but Cameron was absolutely relentless.

*****************************

"Is there something important that you and House need to discuss over dinner?"

Wilson raised an eyebrow in Cameron's direction as she sat down in front of his desk and came directly to her rather invasive point. His voice was level and cautious when he finally replied.

"Is there a reason in particular that you're asking?"

"Well…" Cameron lowered her gaze self-consciously, hesitating as she explained, "… House's parents are coming into town tonight, and… I think he's trying to avoid seeing them…"

"He's not. They're going to dinner with us."

"Oh." Cameron was quiet, wide-eyed, clearly surprised by that. After a moment she continued. "Do you think… you might have room for one more?"

Wilson blinked, startled by the question. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, a certain coolness entering his expression – but Cameron failed to recognize the danger signs with which she was unfamiliar.

"Excuse me?"

"It's just that… I'm so curious. I'd love to meet them… find out what they're like…"

Wilson was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on his desk with a strangely tight smile on his lips, tapping his pen rapidly against the desk as he tried – and failed – to rein in his irritation. Abruptly he looked up at her, his voice cold and sharp as he finally answered her rather presumptuous request.

"I'm sorry if we have some more important issues to deal with tonight than your curiosity, Cameron. House hasn't seen his parents in a couple of years, and tonight we're going to be dealing with some very important issues with them. The last thing he needs is someone else tagging along just to watch the show."

Cameron blinked, taken aback. "I'm sorry," she replied automatically, though she didn't sound particularly apologetic. "Is… everything okay? Is House all right? Or…"

"It's _none_ of your _business_!" Wilson snapped, indignant at her persistence, leaning forward over his desk to give her a warning glare. "It's personal, and if he wanted to share it with you, don't you think he would have?"

"I-I'm sorry," Cameron repeated, sounding more genuinely embarrassed now. "I just… wanted to make sure he was okay…"

"He's fine, Cameron." Wilson's tone was short and terse as he let out an impatient sigh and leaned back in his seat again, studying her reaction as he continued with scathing sarcasm, "Just dealing with possibly the biggest life event he's experienced since puberty – a major life change he's only started coming to terms with since the last time he saw his parents. I know it must be difficult for you to imagine what that might be…"

Cameron's eyes were round as saucers as she finally put it together. "Oh. _Oh._ So… you're telling them tonight? I had no idea. If I'd known I wouldn't have…"

"Cameron."

"Yes?"

"_Please_. Go check on your patient."

As she scurried away as quickly as she could manage, Wilson leaned forward again, wearily resting his head in his hands. He hadn't meant to snap at her, and knew that as much as he hated the idea, he would have to seek her out later and apologize for his behavior with her – at least, if he wanted her to continue to trust him and feel close to him.

_Keep your enemies closer and all that… It wouldn't do to have her figure out how I _really _feel about her… not now…_

It was just so frustrating, on top of everything else that was weighing on him that day. There was the impending visit from House's parents, and the heavy discussion he knew would take place at dinner that night – at his insistence. House was hesitant, reluctant to tell his parents about the new relationship in his life, especially since Wilson was the first man he had ever been with, and his parents had no idea of his sexuality.

However, Wilson insisted that they should come clean with his parents right away. Wilson planned to be a big part of House's life for a long time, and he didn't like the idea of having to hide himself away every time they happened by for a visit. He was nobody's dirty little secret. They were going to tell House's parents the truth tonight, whether House liked it or not.

And then there was House's new bike.

_He _lied_ to me. He told me he needed the money to buy a car, and then he went out and got that… that _death trap_ instead. He played me for a fool, and manipulated me to get what he wanted… and he has to know that that is _not _okay…_

Wilson sighed, leaning back in his chair and resigning himself to the idea of waiting to deal with that particular confrontation.

_Just… after we get through tonight. One hurdle at a time…_

************************

House watched from the sofa, still in the same casual clothes he had worn to work, as Wilson rushed around the apartment, in a desperate hurry to get ready in time for them to leave to meet House's parents for dinner. He had arrived home from work later than usual, and in a terrible mood, obviously very stressed out.

House was currently taking pride in the act of being deliberately, spectacularly unhelpful.

He felt no desire whatsoever to ease Wilson's anxiety over the impending meeting with his parents. After all, Wilson was the one who was pushing him into having a conversation about things he was certain would be better left unsaid – practically forcing him to tell his parents about personal aspects of his life that he _knew_ they would not take well.

He had told Wilson all that – but Wilson didn't seem to care.

Therefore, House didn't care if Wilson drove himself crazy with worry trying to get ready.

_Yeah, so it's passive-aggressive. I don't much care about _that_ at the moment, either._

"Have you seen my lavender shirt?" Wilson called from the bedroom, the muffled sound of his voice indicating that he was probably digging through the closet in search of the missing article.

"Yeah," House called back, smirking, quite pleased with himself. "I'm pretty sure it's in that crumpled up pile in the corner of the room, with your other laundry waiting to be washed." He paused, considering for a moment before adding derisively, "And what kind of man uses the word 'lavender'? Especially when he _could_ use words like 'hideously ugly' or 'so gay I should wear one too and then we won't have to tell my parents anything'?"

Wilson appeared in the bedroom doorway a moment later, eyes wide and slightly panicked, apparently oblivious to House's remarks, focused only on the first half of what he'd said. Disbelieving, he stated, "It was _clean_. _Hanging up_ in the closet. You _knew_ I wanted to wear it tonight. Why would it be with the dirty laundry?"

House shrugged without looking at him, feigning boredom. "Oops."

"House." Wilson's voice became sharp as he crossed his arms over his chest, taking a step into the living room. "This is ridiculous. The whole point of this evening is for _you_… so that you don't have to hide who you are anymore, and can just come clean about this…"

"For _me_?" House echoed dubiously, glancing up at Wilson before returning his gaze to the silent television screen. "Huh. Could have fooled me."

Wilson was silent for a moment, stunned. After a moment, however, he seemed to recover, stalking furiously into the living room and closer to where House sat on the sofa. Instinctively, House rose to his feet as Wilson advanced, returning Wilson's outraged expression with a defiant glare.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Wilson demanded.

"It means that if this had anything to do with what _I _wanted, we wouldn't even be going! If this was for _me_, then you wouldn't be _forcing_ me to…"

"I'm not _forcing_ you to do anything!" Wilson insisted, frustrated.

"Fine." House raised his eyebrows in a challenge, arms crossed as he studied Wilson's reaction to his words. "Then I'm not going. Go ahead and go if you want to. I'll be right here." He paused a moment, allowing a triumphant smirk to rise to his lips as he added a deliberate goad. "Or maybe I'll just go for a little ride on my new bike – which will be _staying my_ new bike for as long as I want it, just so you know."

Wilson's eyes narrowed, smoldering with dark fury as he closed the rest of the distance between himself and House, muttering coldly, "The hell it will! That was _my_ money you spent on it, and I said you're taking it back…"

"_No_," House declared, snatching up his keys from the end table beside the couch and heading toward the door. "In fact, I think I'll just go for a ride right now. Have fun at dinner."

"Oh, no you don't!"

Wilson's voice was low and trembling with barely repressed rage as he followed House to the door, easily overtaking him and grabbing his arm, yanking him back toward the living room. House turned, twisting out of Wilson's grasp and reaching for the door with his free hand.

"_Stop me_!" he challenged.

And that was possibly his biggest mistake, because… Wilson did.

Grabbing House's arm again, Wilson reached out with his other hand to catch House's wrist before he could touch the door, pulling him off balance and slamming him hard against the wall beside the door. When House instinctively raised his cane in his hand, Wilson furiously snatched it out of his grasp, cracking it against the wall mere inches from House's head before hurling it behind him and well out of House's reach. House flinched at the loud sound so close to his ear, the momentary impression that Wilson was going to hit _him_ with the cane, and froze as Wilson suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair, viciously shaking him by it as he shifted intimidatingly close to him.

"You think you're gonna hit me, House?" Wilson snarled, slamming his palm against the wall by House's head in rage, a cold smile rising to his lips when House gave an instinctive, violent flinch at the menacing gesture. "You really think you're gonna hit me?"

House shook his head, swallowing hard, his breath quickening with the panic of being hemmed in and restrained by the younger, stronger man. Wilson drew back his hand and brought it down in a breathtaking slap across House's face, knocking his head into the wall behind him and making him see stars as Wilson shook him again.

"_Answer me_!" he demanded.

"N-no," House struggled to get the single word out, holding his hands up in front of him in a gesture of surrender. "No, I wasn't gonna…"

"_Shut up_!"

Wilson hit him again, but this time he hesitated at the last moment, redirecting the blow so that it fell on House's upper arm, just below his shoulder, instead of striking him in the face again. Wilson gripped House's arms in a painfully tight grasp, pinning him between the wall and Wilson's body. House cringed at the cold, furious menace in Wilson's soft voice as he continued, unnervingly calm.

"You will _not_ talk to me that way, House… and you will _not_ walk away from me, do you understand?"

It had been weeks since that first time when Wilson had struck him, during which time Wilson had been nothing but kind and loving and attentive. Therefore, this violent reaction to House's defiance caught him completely off guard. Stunned and bewildered by the suddenness of the attack, frightened and unsure how to react, House simply fell back on an old, painfully familiar pattern of response. His head was lowered, his eyes averted, and he swallowed hard before nodding slowly.

"Y-yeah… okay…"

"Good."

Wilson's anger and disgust were clear in his voice, but he seemed to be regaining control of the fit of temper that had seized him. Still, the soft, subtle threat in his words kept House tense and trembling as Wilson continued, not letting up on the painful, bruising grip he held on House's arms.

"Now, we really don't have time to talk about the _stupid… freaking… bike_ right now, okay, House?" He bit off the words as if it made him physically ill to speak them, and House shook his head rapidly in acceptance. "There's really nothing to talk about. You lied to me and basically stole from me – and tomorrow when your parents have left town, you're going to make it right. That's all there is to it."

House nodded hurriedly, thoroughly intimidated by the quiet control in Wilson's voice, even more than the violence of his actions.

"The fact that you _lied_ to me, on the other hand," Wilson continued, a deadly softness in his voice that sent a sick shiver of fear down House's spine, "_that_ may bear discussion."

"I-I'm sorry," House whispered, his voice trembling, as his thoughts went unbidden to the last time he had lied to Wilson, and the threats he had made. "Please…"

"Shut up." Wilson's voice was cold and commanding, leaving no room for argument. "We'll deal with this later. Right now, we are going to dinner with your parents. We are not going to be late. You are going to get your ass in that bedroom and get dressed, and we are going to leave in the next ten minutes. Do you understand me?"

House swallowed convulsively, calming down somewhat as Wilson seemed to, even as the knowledge filled his mind that this was not okay – this was terribly wrong.

"Wilson…" he began in a soft, hesitant voice.

"Do _not _start with me, House," Wilson snapped, his voice rising as he shook him slightly in warning. "We do not have time for this right now." He backed off somewhat then, using his hold on House's right arm to give him a little push toward the bedroom. "Go get dressed."

Confused and bewildered and scared, and utterly unsure how to respond… House went and got dressed.

They were not late for dinner.

**************************

The revelation of House's sexual orientation, as well as his relationship with Wilson, went about as well as House had expected.

His mother was mostly quiet, visibly in shock; but his father exploded in a rage, spewing out vicious insults and threats, not in any way impeded by the public setting – until a waiter approached the table and uncomfortably asked him to please keep his voice down as he was upsetting the other guests.

House was uncharacteristically quiet, still shaken from the incident before dinner, and Wilson ended up doing most of the talking. House had to admit that he was poised and eloquent and carried his side of the discussion with a dignity and certainty that made House proud for both of them.

Finally, it was clear that they were not going to make any progress in convincing John House to see the situation from their perspective, and that the only things he was inclined to contribute to the conversation were cruel words, mostly aimed in the direction of his son.

Wilson was angry, but maintained his composure, rising to his feet and declaring calmly that neither he nor House deserved that kind of disrespect, and they weren't going to tolerate it. He told House's father that when he was ready to speak to his son with some measure of civility and understanding, then they might try to discuss it again. With those words, he rose to his feet, reaching out a hand to help House to his feet and leading him away with a gentle but possessive hand on his arm.

House was even more confused after dinner than he had been before.

Wilson had passionately declared his love and dedication to House to his parents, leaving no doubt that he was committed to him and placed him and his wellbeing above all other priorities. In fact, during the course of the conversation, despite how badly it seemed to go, House thought that he began to understand why Wilson had been so insistent upon having it. Wilson's fervent, devoted defense of him to his father was so much more than he had expected, and left him with a sense of warmth and love and belonging that he had never felt with anyone else.

And yet… he couldn't forget the terrifying image of the same man, the man he loved, snarling in his face, his gentle hands becoming violent and grasping, replacing affection with pain and possession.

_But… he loves me… he _does_… doesn't he? He had a right to be angry. I did lie to him to get the money, and… and in a way he's right that that's… basically stealing it. He was stressed out over dinner tonight, and I did nothing but deliberately make it worse for him… if I hadn't pushed him like that, he wouldn't have snapped. It's… not really his fault… But… but this is the second time he's hit me, and… and he promised it wouldn't happen again…_

As the door closed behind them in their apartment that night, House felt a queasy, apprehensive sensation in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't help tensing as Wilson's arms wrapped around him from behind, drawing him into an affectionate but possessive embrace.

House swallowed convulsively, his eyes falling closed as Wilson gently mouthed his throat. Strong hands found his waist and spun him around abruptly, pressing him up against the wall, though in a much different manner than he had done earlier that evening. Wilson grasped House's wrists, pinning them near his head as he kissed him slowly, thoroughly, until House was breathless, gasping when at last Wilson pulled away.

"I love you," Wilson murmured against his ear, withdrawing just far enough to meet House's eyes.

"I… l-love you, too," House whispered, helplessly aware that he _meant_ it, no matter what the consequences.

No matter what Wilson did to him, how badly he hurt him – House couldn't help loving him. He studied Wilson's intense expression of passionate devotion and need, swallowing hard as his mouth suddenly felt dry, his heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Something within him quailed when Wilson's expression darkened slightly, and House saw the smoldering remnants of his anger in his eyes.

"You're not going to lie to me again… are you, House?"

House shook his head, his eyes downcast, trembling under the oppressive power of Wilson's close scrutiny. "No," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Hey… I'm sorry, too," Wilson murmured.

A gentle hand tipped House's chin up, encouraging him to meet Wilson's eyes again. He did, reluctantly, with relief to find Wilson smiling again with warm understanding and affection.

"It's okay… it's okay…"

Wilson whispered soothing reassurance before leaning in to kiss him again, gently and with a tenderness that eased the tremors of apprehension that constricted House's chest, silencing the alarms that had been sounding in his mind since earlier that evening. He gave himself over to Wilson's advances, desperately drinking in the affection and comfort offered by his lover – willingly surrendering the doubts and fears that plagued him – for the moment.

House went to bed that night in the arms of his lover – but in the dark stillness of the night, it was harder to forget the more frightening memories of the evening. Desperately and hopelessly confused, in the wee hours of the morning, House finally managed to fall asleep, one desperate, pleading thought echoing in his mind.

_It'll be all right. I just have to learn how to act in a relationship… how to be honest with him and treat him like he deserves to be treated. If I can do that… if I can be what he needs me to be… then everything is going to be all right…_

***************************

At lunch the next day in the cafeteria, House was surprised to see his mother heading toward him. He glanced at his watch, frowning uneasily, before instinctively scanning the area around her to see if his father had come with her.

Apparently, he had not.

She sat down across from him at the table where he was eating alone, reaching across it to gently place one hand over his.

"Sweetheart… I need to talk to you…"

House shook his head, his gaze averted. "There's nothing to talk about. If you and Dad can't handle the fact that I'm bisexual…"

"No, this… isn't about that."

House reluctantly looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Immediately his mother looked down, drawing in a deep, shaky breath, clearly uncomfortable with whatever it was she wanted to say. Finally, she looked up at him again, a troubled expression of concern in her eyes.

"It's… James. Something about… the way he treated you last night…"

"What _about _the way he treated me last night?" House snapped, instantly defensive.

"I'm… not sure. He was just… very controlling. He barely let you get a word in edgewise, seemed to do all the talking for you, and… Greg… that's just not _you_. You can't possibly be _happy _with that sort of thing… being treated that way… can you?"

"Apparently you don't know an awful lot about what makes me happy," House reminded her in an icy, biting tone, staring down at his plate as he raised his fork to take another bite. The simple gesture was clearly meant as a dismissal.

House's mother was not ready to be dismissed.

"What happened to your face? I noticed it last night, but… there was so much going on…" There was no mistaking the suspicion in her quiet words.

"I got it in a bar fight," House replied without hesitation, not bothering to mask his irritation as he looked up with a cool smile to take in her reaction to those words. "Does that make you happy? To hear what a disappointment I am? Starting fights, getting into trouble like a kid? No, I bet it doesn't, because _nothing_ I do makes you happy, does it? Why can't you just be happy for _me_, because for once _I'm_ happy?"

Inwardly House cringed at the venom in his own voice, immediately overwhelmed with guilt for speaking to his mother in a way he had _never_ spoken to her, not in his entire lifetime. After all, if she hadn't noticed the fresh bruise on his cheek, he'd likely have inwardly reviled her for following her time-honored practice of intentional ignorance when it came to her son and the pain he so often managed to bring on himself.

_At least this time she's speaking up about it… I ought to be grateful…_

Blythe House frowned, distressed by the turn the conversation was taking. "If I was sure that you _are_ happy, honey…"

Alarm filled House's mind at how near she was venturing to the painful truth, making his stomach lurch with fear, and he looked away from her abruptly, swallowing hard.

_No matter what, she can't know… she'd never understand… but she _always_ knows when I'm lying… I just have to get her to go away… have to shut her down so hard that she'll give up and go away, and I won't have to worry about lying to her for another couple of years, anyway… I just have to get her to leave…_

"Maybe it's just because your own relationship sucks so badly that you can't stand to think that mine is actually a good one." House cut her off, a brittle smile on his lips that didn't touch his eyes. "Or maybe it's just that you wouldn't even recognize happiness if you saw it at this point."

He tossed his fork down onto his tray and rose to his feet, shrugging dismissively.

"Either way – I don't see this conversation getting anywhere productive." He glanced over his shoulder toward the door, adding, "You found your own way in."

Without another word, he stalked away to dump his tray and leave the cafeteria, leaving his mother sitting alone at the table, watching him go through troubled eyes filled with concern. She sat there for a few moments, unsure as to what she should do, before finally deciding that at the moment there was nothing she _could_ do.

If her son wouldn't let her in, wouldn't tell her what it was that he was hiding, then there was nothing she could do to help him. She had her suspicions as to the nature of the relationship he had gotten himself into with his best friend, but if he wouldn't admit to anything, there was nothing she could do to prove those suspicions.

She could only help him if he would let her.

With a sigh of resignation, Blythe House rose and made her way out of the cafeteria and toward the waiting car outside.

She and her husband had a plane to catch.


	28. Chapter 28

The next morning, House and Wilson got ready for work in awkward silence, each caught up in his own unpleasant thoughts of the past couple of days, and everything that had happened, both between them, and with House's parents. There had been no further argument, no further discussion of the bike or any other points of contention between them, but their mutual tension was still a nearly palpable thing.

Wilson passed House on the way from the bathroom after his shower and exchanged a brief, uncertain smile with him before heading toward the closet to pick out something to wear. Much to Wilson's surprise, he found the ironing board set up in the bedroom, with his freshly ironed pale blue shirt laid neatly across it. His chest ached with gratitude and affection at the simple gesture – evidence that House was not holding his recent violence against him.

_In fact… it almost looks as if he's holding it against _himself _instead…_

Wilson's thoughts returned to the events of the evening before, and his expression darkened at the troublesome memories as he gave a weary sigh and shrugged into the shirt.

_Good… maybe he won't give me any more trouble about the stupid bike._

When House got out of the shower, Wilson was waiting for him in the bedroom. He ignored the way House tensed at his approach, wrapping gentle arms around him and drawing him in close for a slow, tender kiss. Wilson made the kiss linger, finally backing off when House was a little breathless and leaning unconsciously toward him in an instinctive attempt to continue contact.

Wilson couldn't help but smile as he rested his forehead against House's and whispered, "Thank you."

House shrugged self-consciously, cautiously extricating himself from Wilson's embrace and going to the closet – but not quickly enough to hide the slightly giddy smile on his lips at Wilson's reaction to his small act of generosity. His tone was carefully casual and dismissive when he replied.

"No big deal."

"From anyone else, it wouldn't be. From you… just…" Wilson shook his head, somewhat at a loss, before giving up and concluding, "Just… thanks."

Both were quiet for a long moment, before Wilson ventured a question in a deliberately calm, non-confrontational voice.

"So… you want to take the bike to work? And then I'll follow you over to the dealership at lunch? Does that work for you?"

House was quiet a moment longer, his back still turned to Wilson. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft and a little timid. "I guess so." He paused, hesitant. "I'd… really like to keep it."

Wilson fell silent, fighting the dark mood that came with the frustrating continuation of this argument he had thought to be settled. He forcefully jerked a dresser drawer open and took out a pair of socks, slamming the drawer closed before going to the bed and sitting down to put them on.

House flinched at the loud sound, still not turning to face Wilson, though Wilson caught the sharp intake of breath that accompanied the motion. Wilson bit his lip, his brow furrowed in a pensive frown, as he tried to decide how best to handle this situation.

_I want to make sure he's safe… make sure I do what's best for him… but… maybe it's better if it's not all at once. I don't want to scare him away…_

After a few moments of thought, Wilson reached a decision. He knew exactly how to handle the issue of the motorcycle.

***************************

House's mouth was dry, his hands trembling with fear, as he waited for Wilson to respond to his tentative statement. He felt sick to his stomach, inwardly quaking with apprehension as he waited for the inevitable fallout.

_Stupid, stupid… what's the matter with you? Should have known better than to argue about it… should have just let it go…_

He was so lost in his self-accusing thoughts that he didn't hear Wilson approaching from behind, and was startled by the sudden feeling of Wilson's arms around him, one wrapped around his waist and the other around his shoulders, drawing him backward against Wilson's body and frighteningly off balance.

He drew in a shaky gasp of alarm, flinching as he stammered out, "I'm sorry… it doesn't matter… I d-don't need to keep it…"

"Hey… shhh," Wilson soothed him, his voice gentle and sympathetic, and House was both relieved and unsettled to feel Wilson's lips kissing a slow line up his shoulder toward his jaw. "It's okay… I'm not mad… I think…" He paused, one hand rising to turn House's face toward him, capturing his lips in a brief, gentle kiss before drawing back to meet his eyes and continue. "… I think you should keep it."

House's eyes widened with surprise, and his jaw dropped for a moment before he recovered his composure, swallowing hard. "You… you do?"

"Yeah," Wilson confirmed with a nod, releasing his grip on House and moving around to face him, his hands resting gently on House's arms and trailing slowly up and down. "I do. I… I want you to be safe, House, but… but I shouldn't keep you from doing something that means this much to you. If you want to keep it…I think you should."

House's face broke out into a cautious smile, his apprehension fading like mist in the sunlight.

"With… a couple of conditions," Wilson warned him, fighting to keep his expression serious in the face of House's obvious joy.

"Okay, sure," House agreed readily, thinking that any conditions Wilson might place on the deal had to be better than giving up the bike completely.

"I want you to tell me when you're riding it, and where you're going. I need to know where to tell the police and paramedics to look if you don't come home."

Wilson let out a rueful laugh, and House nodded, returning it with amusement at Wilson's over-protectiveness.

It was a reasonable request.

"And I want you to always wear a helmet."

That was an even more reasonable request. Still, House couldn't resist giving Wilson a hard time about it.

"I'm not _eight_," he reminded him, rolling his eyes. "But okay, no problem. I like being _not_ decapitated myself, you know."

House rode with Wilson to work, thrilled with his victory and in a better mood than he had been in days.

He didn't give a thought to the fresh bruise that marked his cheek where Wilson had slapped him… or the fact that he hadn't been back to work since it had happened.

**************************

"We need to talk."

House looked up with minor annoyance as Stacy stormed into his office, his attention diverted momentarily from the elaborate domino-like construction he had made from various objects around his office. He was in a relatively good mood, so he gave her a mildly suggestive smile as he retorted with false concern.

"Oh, God. Are you pregnant? Because I really wanted to finish high school."

Stacy just rolled her eyes, ignoring his remarks as she crossed the room to stand in front of his desk. "You have to renew your credentials. They're only good for three more weeks, and the paperwork takes…"

She stopped abruptly, and House paused in his efforts to look deliberately bored and unconcerned, looking up to meet her eyes. His curiosity quickly turned to self-conscious alarm, however, when he saw the look of dismay on her face, and realized even before she asked what had put that look there.

"Is that a fresh bruise on your cheek, House?"

"Yeah. I _do_ happen to get into bar fights more frequently than when we were together." He shook his head, frowning with falsely innocent confusion as he shrugged and continued, "Something about being a bitter, angry cripple – don't know – makes me more prone to violence, somehow."

"House… _seriously_," Stacy insisted, undeterred by his explanation. "What happened?"

"Stacy… _seriously_," House mimicked in an annoying whine meant to resemble her tone, before allowing his smile to fade and repeating with firm insistence, "_Bar. Fight_."

Stacy opened her mouth to argue, but before she could say anything else, Cuddy walked into House's office.

"House, got a patient."

House rose to his feet and walked around his desk with a falsely cordial nod in Stacy's direction.

"Let's walk while we talk. I need an excuse to escape Stacy's inappropriate-for-the-workplace advances. You really should fire her. Her lingering feelings for me are making me feel sexually harassed. Seriously, because of her my work environment lately feels _totally_ unsafe…"

Relieved for the excuse to get away, House left Stacy standing staring helplessly after him as he went with Cuddy to see about the world-class cyclist who had just been admitted.

**************************

House handed the young male flight attendant his chart and sent him out of the exam room with orders to cut back on his gum-chewing, rolling his eyes at yet another example of human idiocy as he turned his back on the door and sighed heavily. It had been an exhausting and frustrating afternoon in the clinic, and he was ready to focus on something less inane and more interesting.

He jumped as the door opened with a bang, spinning around with his heart in his throat – and then relaxing into irritation when he saw Stacy standing there.

She was not the kind of interesting he'd been hoping for.

"House… we _really_ need to talk."

"No, you gave up the right to that particular irritating feminine manipulative device when you _walked out on me_," House snapped, feeling a little cornered and not at all patient with Stacy's persistence.

"House… just because we couldn't live with each other anymore doesn't mean I don't still care about you…"

"Yeah, apparently too much. Which means I should be careful. Bad things happen to people when you care too much about them, don't they, Stacy?"

She flinched slightly, visibly stunned and wounded by the harsh accusation in his words.

"House, that's…" Her voice was barely over a hoarse whisper. "… that's not fair…"

"A lot of things in life aren't." He met her eyes, his own glittering and maliciously sharp, eagerly seeking the hurt reaction his words had obtained. "You taught me that, a long time ago. I'm just returning the favor."

Stacy swallowed hard, tears shining in her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. After a long, tense moment had passed, she abruptly turned and walked away, swiping angrily at her eyes, the exam room door swinging closed again behind her.

As House watched her go, his smile fell, the vicious light fading from his eyes. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, not really; he had just wanted to make her let it go and leave him alone. He knew why she'd done what she did all those years ago – knew that no matter what he thought about it, how it felt, she had only wanted to save his life, however misguided her attempts to do so.

_She didn't deserve that. No matter what's happened between us… she didn't deserve to have that thrown in her face again…_

*************************

"I want to apologize."

Stacy looked up, startled, to see House taking a seat across from her desk. She swallowed hard, her jaw set with her determination, whatever his game was this time, not to let him get to her as he had done earlier in the clinic.

"I've been punishing you too long for what happened. I know that. But… it's a little hard to deal with. Working with you every day – it's not easy. And it's _less_ easy with you in my face every five minutes demanding answers about my every little boo-boo. I shouldn't have said what I said… but you lost the right to demand answers about my life when you walked out. That much is a fact, no matter how you try to pretty it up and make it sound less ass-ish."

Stacy blinked, startled by his frank honesty – and automatically respecting it. She nodded slowly.

"You're right." She paused, taking a deep breath before adding, "That doesn't make me stop caring about you."

"I… know you still care about me. I… still care about you, too. I think… we might always care. But if you're going to let it affect our work, then… we might have a problem."

"I just don't like to see you hurting," Stacy confessed, her shoulders slumping, her brow creased in a sorrowful expression as she met his eyes across the desk. "I come here, and first thing you know I see you showing up with bruises – and you tell me you got some of them from your _patients_ – which I can't understand why Lisa's been tolerating that kind of behavior, no matter _how_ much she thinks you might have brought it on yourself, and… you're getting into fights, and… and I know it's not my business, but I can't help worrying…"

"I appreciate that." Something about the soft seriousness of House's tone cut her rant short, and Stacy waited for him to go on. "It means a lot; it really does… but…" House paused, glancing down and drawing in a deep breath. "… I'm a big boy, Stacy. You have to believe that I can take care of myself – my own issues. If I get into trouble, it's _my_ problem, not yours. That's… not your job anymore."

Stacy was torn between the seeming reason in House's words, and her nagging sensation that, despite his explanations, there was more to the story than he was telling her.

_But… if there is… he's right. It's not your business anymore._

"Just… promise me one thing." She held House's gaze, a dubious expression in her eyes. "If anything happens that I _can_ help you with… you'll come to me. If a patient hits you, you should pursue legal action. That kind of thing is _not acceptable_. Okay?"

House gave her a tolerant smile, nodding. "Okay."

He got up without another word and headed for the door, leaving Stacy staring after him with troubled eyes, wondering if she had just made a terrible mistake in agreeing to his request – and wondering whether or not she would be able to keep her promise at all.


	29. Chapter 29

House sat at his small wooden desk in his bedroom, illuminated only by the small desk lamp that sat upon it. He was more relaxed than usual after a long, pleasant ride on his motorcycle, and was now enjoying the peace and quiet of an evening at home alone, poring over the fascinating contents of the file spread out on the desk in front of him.

But it was not a patient that he found so intriguing.

He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he didn't even hear Wilson come in, wasn't aware of his presence at all until he felt a strong but gentle arm slide around his shoulders from behind, drawing him back against Wilson's chest as Wilson's lips gently caressed the side of his neck.

House couldn't help but jump at the unexpected contact, his heart leaping up into his throat. Wilson let out a low, throaty laugh against his skin, drawing away to lean forward and look into House's eyes with a soft smile of affectionate amusement.

"Why so jumpy?"

House shook his head, his mouth suddenly dry and his palms damp as he murmured, "No reason."

Before Wilson could question the words, House leaned in to return his kiss, raising his arms and turning in his chair to embrace his partner – intent on distracting him before he discovered…

"What are you working on?"

"Nothing, really."

House insisted with a nervous laugh, reaching instinctively with one hand to cover the open file on his desk. In a single fluid motion, Wilson caught his wrist with one hand, drawing it away from the file and scooping it up swiftly with the other, then turning his back on House and walking a few steps away to prevent him from taking the file back.

"Wilson, that's none of your business. It's not what you…"

House's words were abruptly cut off when Wilson spun around in an instant and backhanded him, hard, sending him stumbling back against the desk. The file dropped to the floor as Wilson advanced on him, catching a handful of his hair to hold his head in place and slamming his fist down across House's face again. House raised his hands in front of him in a gesture that was both submissive and defensive at once, flinching as Wilson jerked him away from the desk and slammed him into the wall beside it with all his strength.

"Wilson, w-wait, please…"

"_Shut up_!"

Wilson snarled, delivering another dizzying blow that made House see stars and struggle to keep his footing. Wilson wrapped one hard hand around House's throat and pinned him to the wall, choking him slightly as he leaned in close to his face to bite off a series of menacing accusations.

"You little _whore_. What _is_ that, House? Where did you get that? That's her personal therapy file. You had to have broken into her therapist's office to get it!" Wilson shook him hard and House bit his lip to still its trembling, his eyes screwed shut in the face of Wilson's rage as the younger man shouted in his face. "Are you really _that obsessed_ with her, House? Is she still so important to you that you're willing to go to all that trouble just to spy on her?"

"No, no," House gasped out, his voice trembling with panic. "No, I just… just wanted to find out if she's… s-said anything about me, because… she's been… asking questions, and… and acting all weird around me lately and… I just wanted to know…"

"Weird?" Wilson echoed, his seething tone gaining in fury with every accusing word. "Weird, how? Weird as in… interested in you? Weird as in flirting like a wanton slut? Possibly because you've been _leading her on_ for the past few weeks?"

Another vicious slap silenced House's pleading protest.

"I ran into your little stalker outside, too, by the way," Wilson continued, furious. "He's been hanging around the apartment lately, and you've told me that he wants you to take his case – but is that really what's going on, House? Or is he just one more admirer you're _playing_?"

"Wilson, no," House pleaded, his voice hoarse and choked with frustrated, fearful tears. "Wilson, I swear, that's not it! He's just some sick guy who wants…"

"What about me, House?" Wilson demanded as if he hadn't even spoken. "Am _I_ just another idiot you're playing?"

"_No_!" The desperate word was nearly a sob. "Wilson, I _love_ you…!"

Wilson slapped him again, following the blow with a brutal punch to his stomach that wound have sent him to his knees had Wilson not been standing so close. Wilson gripped his throat again, and House stared at him with wide-eyed fear, shaking his head to express the frantic plea not allowed to him by Wilson's choking hand.

"_Liar_," Wilson hissed. "You lying little slut."

He tightened his grip on House's throat, and House raised a shaking hand in a desperate attempt to pull Wilson's hand away; but Wilson's free hand grasped his wrist and slammed it painfully back against the wall, eliciting a sharp, strangled cry of pain from House's lips. Wilson shifted in closer to House, his voice low and furious and menacing.

"You. Are. _Mine_, House. Do you understand me?"

House nodded desperately, gasping for breath.

"I will not lose you to some pathetic little whore like that piece of shit outside, and I will _not _lose you to someone who's already hurt you as much as Stacy has! She doesn't deserve you, House, can't you see that?"

Wilson's voice was shaking by the end, and he sounded as if he was about to cry, as his grip on House's throat loosened abruptly, and his hand slid down to rest, trembling, against House's chest.

"What can she give you that I can't, House? Why am I not enough for you?"

"You _are_," House insisted automatically, his voice a hoarse, painful whisper from Wilson's assault, his uninjured hand moving to tentatively rest over Wilson's. "Wilson… I don't _want _anyone else… I swear it… I love you, Wilson… there's nothing going on with Stacy, I swear it…"

Wilson was quiet for a moment, gasping for breath, and House swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. His hand tightened slightly around Wilson's as he whispered in a hushed, cautious tone.

"Wilson… please… I wouldn't cheat on you, I'd _never _cheat on you… you have to believe me…"

"God, House, would you just _shut up_?" Wilson snapped, cutting him off abruptly, slamming his hand into the wall next to House's head, causing him to flinch violently. "You think I'm stupid? You think you can just play me again? Say all the right things and hope that I turn a blind eye to your unfaithfulness?"

"I'm not _being_…"

Wilson slapped him again, knocking his head against the wall as he snarled, "I told you to _shut up_!"

Wilson shoved him hard, releasing a volley of hard, breathtaking blows into House's face, chest, and stomach. When he was finished, House was huddled, half-sitting and half-kneeling with his back against the wall, holding up one arm to shield his face. Furious, Wilson grabbed his arm and jerked it down with one hand, yanking his head back with the other.

"I can't stand to _look_ at you right now!"

The words were a vicious hiss in his ear, and the sheer disgust in his voice made House cringe with shame. Wilson shook him slightly by his hair, and House winced in pain, but dared not pull away, his body rigid in his attempt to keep perfectly still and not appear to be resisting Wilson's control. He held up his shaking hands in front of him in a gesture of submission as Wilson bit off cold orders in his ear.

"I'm going out for a while. You will _not_ leave the apartment until I get back, and you will _not_ let anyone in, is that clear?"

House nodded, too badly shaken to resist at all. "Okay… okay, please…"

Wilson released him with a harsh shove, taking a few backward steps and glaring down at him in repulsion. He snatched up his car keys from the desk where he had set them, then grabbed House's keys for good measure before stalking out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

Wilson came home hours later, much calmer and more in control. Still, he was frigid and skeptical when it came to House's anxiously repeated insistences that he had not been unfaithful to Wilson and would never be. He stepped very close to House, completely invading his space, to softly suggest that maybe House would be better off not pressing the issue.

House wisely took the warning and gave Wilson his space for the rest of the evening.

At the end of the night, however, Wilson approached him again, slipping up behind him and wrapping his arms around him, coaxing him toward their bed. House was shaky and uncertain, too scared to object, despite the fact that he was too sore – both physically and emotionally – to be in much of a mood for anything.

Wilson held him close, whispering vague reassurances in his ear, words designed to ease the tension between them without absolving House of the assumed responsibility for what had happened.

"I can't share you, House," he murmured. "I love you too much."

House was quiet for a long time before whispering in a voice thick with emotion, "You don't have to."

*****************************

As it turned out, House's stalker was actually sick.

The next morning, House was barely able to move without pain – but that was no different than many of his normal days. The bruises that marred his face, he would explain away as the results of another fight – or perhaps an altercation with the young man outside his apartment, he decided on the way to the hospital in Wilson's car.

As if having to treat the man that Wilson viewed as a threat was not bad enough, Cuddy insisted that he go to see Stacy immediately upon his arrival at the hospital. The incident outside his apartment could be a legal issue, he knew, so there was a valid reason for the visit to Stacy's house, since she was out for the day.

House wasn't sure if _Wilson_ would see it as valid, however.

He had the utterly valid excuse that Cuddy was giving him no choice in the matter, of course – but Wilson might not accept that. House found him in the clinic and pulled him aside into an empty exam room, where he hurriedly explained Cuddy's orders in a trembling, submissive tone. Wilson cursed softly under his breath, visibly angry – though House wasn't quite sure if that anger was directed at him or not.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, his eyes lowered, trembling visibly. "Wilson, I don't have a choice…"

"Okay," Wilson muttered, shaking his head, pacing irritably back and forth. "Okay, I get it… I understand. Just… do what you have to do and get it over with and get back here, okay?"

House gratefully agreed, relieved to have escaped the situation so easily. He was reluctant to meet with Stacy, well aware of what her reaction to his new injuries was likely to be; but he had no choice in the matter. When he arrived at her house, he was tense and distant, sticking to the business at hand only – and to her credit, Stacy did not say a word about the fresh bruises that mottled his face.

Discussing Kalvin's medical case, and the incident that had occurred between them that morning, took only a few moments; but that time was not uneventful, as it was interrupted by the appearance of a rat that caused a great deal of panicked shrieking on Stacy's part – and an instantaneous fascination on House's part, when he happened to notice a symptom.

"You never could resist a challenge," Stacy mused, shaking her head with an affectionate smile as House picked up the Tupperware dish with holes punched in the top in which he was containing the rodent. "Any unexplained symptom, you have no choice but to figure out."

House couldn't help but return her smile, carried back to better times by the nostalgic tone in her voice. All at once, he was overcome with a wistful sensation of longing, as he remembered the good times they had shared, and thought about how happy they had been together… for a time.

He realized with some surprise that he had actually enjoyed this little visit. Stacy had not pressed him on personal issues, and they had actually gotten along well – and Wilson knew that he was there, and had no reason to be upset with him about it.

Later that day, when House managed to get into a fight with the patient's father and was promptly instructed by Cuddy to have another _meeting_ with the staff attorney, House couldn't help but feel a little bit of pleasant anticipation at the thought. He explained what had happened to Wilson, who sighed wearily, but agreed that, once again, he had no choice.

As House made his way to Stacy's office, he thought that perhaps he would have to start finding other potential legal issues to place him in her path.

***************************

Stacy sighed as she sat at her desk, thinking about House's rather eventful visit that afternoon, her mind filled with troubling images of the new marks she had seen on his face. Despite her concerns, she knew that grilling him about it again would only serve to push him farther away, so she had kept quiet about it and done her best to make him feel at ease with her.

_I know something's not right… I know he's hiding something from me… but at least he's talking to me at all, for a change… Maybe, if we can get to be friends again… maybe he'll eventually tell me what's going on…_

A soft knock on her door drew her attention, and she looked up with a slightly guarded smile.

"Hi, there."

Her visitor did not return her smile, his own expression solemn and troubled as he stepped into her office, closing the door firmly behind him. He took a seat across from her desk without a word, and laid a blue file folder on the desk in front of her. She looked down at it with a puzzled frown that became startled, and then indignant, when she recognized the name on it – her own.

Wilson gave her an apologetic grimace, his voice halting and regretful.

"I found this in with House's things. I… just thought you should know…"


	30. Chapter 30

"You read my file."

House blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected accusation, as he looked up from behind his desk to see Stacy standing in front of him, arms crossed angrily over her chest.

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. You tell me. All I know is that you _did_."

Stacy's tone was icy and hard as stone, her eyes flashing fire as she waited for his explanation. House swallowed hard, forcing himself to maintain eye contact, well aware that looking away would only serve to reinforce his guilt.

_How could she possibly know? Wilson wouldn't tell her… would he? He must have. It's the only way she could have found out…_

He couldn't keep an edge of anger from his own voice as he demanded, "And where, may I ask, did you come across this piece of oh-so-reliable information?"

Stacy hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether or not to tell him, before her shoulders slumped and she admitted, "My therapist asked me if _I'd_ taken a peek at the file. He found it out of place, and knew someone must have looked at it besides him. I lived with you for seven years, Greg. It wasn't hard to put two and two together and come up with four."

_So Wilson's not a traitor… just an idiot._

House sighed, allowing his gaze to fall to the desk in front of him, now that the ruse was clearly pointless. "Can you blame me for being curious?"

"Can I…?" Stacy echoed in disbelief, sounding a little breathless. House glanced up to see that her eyes were wide and indignant. "_Yes_, I can _blame _you! My personal therapy notes are none of your business! God, Greg, I thought I could _trust_ you; I thought we might be able to be _friends_! But now, I don't know _what_ to think…"

Uncomfortable and embarrassed by the hurt mingled with the anger in her voice, House rose to his feet abruptly, moving toward the door. "Well, if all you're going to do is stand here yelling at me, I've got a patient to…"

"Oh, no, you don't…"

Stacy reached out a hand to catch his arm, wanting only to stop his escape – but House's reaction was far more extreme than she had anticipated. He flinched violently, jerking away from her hand and spinning around to face her again, his eyes startled and wide with fear.

Stacy drew in a soft gasp of dismay at his reaction, and House quickly dropped his gaze, his face flushing with shame.

"Like I said," he muttered, barely audible. "Got a patient. I'll see you when you actually have something _important_ to talk about."

******************************

As it turned out, it wasn't long at all before Stacy _did _have something important to discuss. With every moment they spent together, House grew more tense and withdrawn. The tension between the two of them was bad enough, not to mention the troubled, wary glances Wilson cast in their direction anytime he saw the two of them talking.

House had been quiet and distant with Wilson during the past couple of weeks, since the event that House consistently thought of simply as _the incident_. It was like a dark presence in whatever room in which they happened to be together – an uncomfortable subject that had to be dealt with, but which neither wanted to approach. In his silent solitude, one troubling realization echoed again and again in House's mind, drowning out the memories of the incident itself.

Wilson hadn't yet apologized.

House jumped slightly as he stepped out the door of Stacy's office, and found himself suddenly face-to-face and inches away from his rather curious, insecure boyfriend. He quickly got control of his instinctive reaction of alarm, relaxing his shoulders and leaning back against the wall beside the door, meeting Wilson's eyes with an awkward half-smile.

Wilson returned his smile with a nervous laugh at their accidental proximity, backing up a step or two and falling into pace with House as they headed down the hallway.

"So… how's Stacy?"

House shrugged carelessly, his eyes focused on the floor in front of him. "Same as this morning. Hating my guts with every fiber of her being."

Wilson grimaced, shaking his head in dismay as he opened the door to his office. "Well… it _was_ a pretty crappy thing to do…"

"I know that."

House didn't mean to snap at Wilson, but somehow the words came out that way. He immediately glanced up at the other man uncertainly, biting his lower lip in anxiety. He wasn't afraid of Wilson's reacting in violence – not in a public setting like this – but he didn't want to cause any more tension between them than was already there.

Standing in the doorway of his office, Wilson caught House's gaze and nodded once toward the dimly lit room. His expression was solemn and troubled, and although House saw no anger there, he could not help but be a little apprehensive.

Things could happen in the privacy of Wilson's office that would never happen in a public hallway.

"House… I think we need to talk."

House hesitated for a moment before coming to a decision. He squared his shoulders, forcing himself to hold Wilson's gaze as he replied softly.

"I think… you're right. We do."

House reluctantly followed Wilson into his office, closing the door quietly behind him. He tensed when Wilson immediately moved in close to him, pressing forward so that House's back was to the door. His breath quickened with a claustrophobic feeling of fear, and his hands instinctively moved to cover Wilson's on his waist. Hesitant and halting, his eyes finally made their way to Wilson's again, trying to gauge his expression.

All he saw was sorrow and regret.

"House," Wilson murmured, shaking his head slowly as he freed one hand and raised it to gently brush over the surface of a dark purple bruise on House's cheek. "I'm so sorry."

House couldn't help flinching at the contact, his gaze averted again. He was quiet a moment before venturing to point out, "You… were sorry last time, too."

Wilson's hand froze on his cheek, and House tensed, instinctively preparing himself for a blow – but it didn't come. Wilson's eyes were solemn and intent, and when he spoke, his words came with slow, deliberate thoughtfulness.

"I… _am_ sorry. I wish this hadn't happened. But… House… you have to admit that… this wouldn't have happened at all if you hadn't lied to me…" Wilson began counting off his points on his fingers as he continued. "… sneaked around behind my back – and Stacy's, for that matter – and stolen personal medical files – which is a felony, by the way." Wilson paused a moment, studying House's expression as he repeated, "You have to know that. Right?"

House weighed his words with caution, troubled by Wilson's tone, and the direction in which this conversation seemed to be heading. "That's… technically true… but…"

"I hate hurting you, House. I never want to hurt you again." Wilson shifted in close to House again, his head lowered, as he raised a firm but gentle hand to rest at the back of House's neck, tugging his head down so that their foreheads touched. His voice broke over the words as he continued in a hoarse, halting whisper.

"Sometimes… I almost hate… how much I love you. Because… when I'm… afraid of losing you… House… it makes me crazy. Sometimes I… I feel like I'm losing my mind. Do you… do you know what it feels like… to love someone… that much?"

House felt a thick lump of emotion constricting his throat, and blinked away the stinging moisture that rose to his eyes. He shook his head slowly, not trusting his voice to speak. He didn't want to hurt Wilson, didn't want to voice it aloud – but he wasn't sure that such an intensity of love was really a _good_ thing to feel.

_That much love… that _kind _of love… is frightening… dangerous…_

When Wilson slid his hand from the back of House's neck to touch his cheek again, House didn't flinch or pull away. Wilson's hand guided House's mouth toward his, his lips and tongue gently teasing at House's mouth until it opened, granting him entrance. Although his kiss was tentative and slightly guarded, House returned the gesture, raising cautious hands to draw Wilson closer to him.

Wilson finally pulled back, meeting House's gaze with tears shining in his eyes. There was a solemn promise in his voice when he spoke, his tone hushed and almost reverent.

"It will _never_… happen again."

House held his gaze, nodding slowly in acknowledgment. He hesitated, drawing in a deep, shaky breath before softly correcting Wilson's statement.

"It… _can't_… happen again, Wilson. It can't."

Wilson shook his head, frowning. "It won't. I promise, House…"

"No… you're not getting it." House sighed nervously, his gaze falling before he forced himself to meet Wilson's eyes again. There was a rare honesty and vulnerability in his trembling words when he went on. "You… really hurt me, Wilson. _Really_ hurt me. I'd be limping today even _without_ the infarction."

"I know," Wilson whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek. "I know."

"You really… scared me. You were so… so angry… I thought you could have… could have done _anything_ that night, Wilson. You were so out of control…"

"I know… I know, I just… get so… so jealous… I can't stand the thought of someone… taking you away from me…"

"Not every person I talk to wants to take me away from you, Wilson. I… I should be able to talk to people without you… freaking out on me," House insisted, his frustration evident in his tone. His breath hitched as he stared down at his shoes, swallowing hard. He couldn't meet Wilson's eyes as he finished in a tentative whisper.

"If it… if it happens again… I-I'll have to… I… can't be with someone who…"

"_No_."

House flinched at the intensity of Wilson's tone, bracing himself – but Wilson didn't strike out at him. He wrapped a firm hand around House's jaw, gently tilting his head up, insisting that he meet his eyes.

"House…" Wilson shook his head. "No. I… I can't lose you. I _won't_."

House's mouth went dry, and his heart beat faster with fear, as he found himself unsure how to take Wilson's words. His entire body was tense, prepared for an attack.

_Stupid, shouldn't have said that… took it too far and now he's gonna…_

"I promise you, House," Wilson whispered, his voice trembling with pleading tears. "I promise… I won't do anything to lose you. I won't ever hurt you again, House… I swear it. Please… you have to believe me…"

House's shoulders slumped with relief, and he nodded willingly, eager to accept Wilson's promises and believe that he would keep them this time. He pulled Wilson closer, and Wilson responded by wrapping his arms tightly around House, guiding his head down onto his shoulder. Faced with the such gentle, loving comfort, after the abuse Wilson had dealt to him the other night, followed by days of emotional isolation – House found himself breaking down, his shaking hands clinging to Wilson as his tears finally fell, soaking through the fabric of Wilson's shirt.

"Shhh," Wilson murmured, though his own voice was hoarse and thick with tears. "It's okay… it's okay, House… everything's gonna be fine… we're gonna be just fine…"

*****************************

As House sat outside the room where the hearing was being held on the death of Chase's recent patient, he found himself hoping that Wilson had meant what he said about trying to be less jealous about House's interactions with others. It was awkward enough, sitting here with Stacy, knowing how angry she was with him at the moment, without having to worry about every single word, and whether or not it would make Wilson angry if it got back to him.

Stacy kept casting strange glances in his direction, and House let out a shaky breath, feeling self-conscious and uncertain. The only thing of which he _was_ certain was that he was sorry to have damaged what had been becoming a rather pleasant friendship between him and his ex-lover.

If there was a way that he could fix it – he wanted to.

"Stacy… I'm sorry."

Stacy blinked, startled by the words, so unfamiliar coming from House's lips. She hesitated, frowning slightly, a bemused expression in her eyes as she studied his face.

"Okay…" she responded with dubious acceptance.

"Okay."

House nodded and lowered his eyes, tapping his cane idly between his feet with one hand. He was startled to suddenly feel the warm pressure of Stacy's hand on his other hand, and looked down at their joined hands between them, then up into Stacy's eyes with a wide, questioning gaze.

"O… kay?" he hesitantly repeated, waiting for her explanation.

Stacy gave him a warm smile, rolling her eyes in the direction of her hand on his before rushing to reassure him. "I'm not making a move on you, Greg. I just… I accept your apology. Maybe I'm crazy to, because God knows I don't think you're ever going to change, but… but I _do_ accept it."

House studied her expression for a moment before nodding once, looking down again.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"I probably shouldn't tell you this." Stacy sighed. "But… I don't think it really matters _what_ you do, Greg. I… I was enjoying… becoming friends with you. And… I _still _want to be friends with you. So… we'll forget about the file thing, if you'll just… humor me and let me believe for a few minutes that you _might_ not do anything like it again."

House laughed with her, nodding slowly, a rare, warm smile gracing his lips.

"Okay. Deal."

"Deal."

Stacy smiled and raised his hand in hers, moving it up and down in an exaggerated handshake before releasing it.

Neither of them said anything else for a long time, but the silence had shifted to something much more comfortable and light. House didn't think he'd be sharing anything personal with Stacy anytime soon. Things between him and Wilson were getting better – not that he would have told Stacy about that, anyway – so there was no need to think about it for the moment. Still, House was grateful to know that he had a friend in his corner if he needed her.

_But I won't. Everything's going to be fine. Wilson knows where I stand… knows I'll leave him if he tries anything like that again… so we're going to be just fine…_


	31. Chapter 31

"Hey, House."

House slammed the front door of the apartment as he came in, glaring in response to Wilson's pleasant greeting – though they both knew it was not Wilson at whom he was angry. He took off his scarf and coat with more force than was necessary, then trudged over to the sofa and sat down beside Wilson, leaning his head on the back of the sofa and closing his eyes.

"Today sucks," he announced in a petulant tone, reaching into his pocket for his Vicodin, removing the lid one-handed and popping one straight from the bottle.

"I'm sorry. What happened?"

Wilson's voice was patronizingly sympathetic, and only added to House's irritation – though he had to admit that the feeling of Wilson's fingers running through his hair, gently scratching his scalp, _was_ rather soothing.

"Could you… keep doing that… _without_ the talking part?"

Wilson good-naturedly ignored House's jibe, sliding closer to his lover and draping his free arm across his torso in an affectionate embrace. "Is it because Foreman's in charge?" he guessed. "It's only for a couple of weeks, House. It'll be over before you know it…"

"It'll be over before two weeks, if I have anything to do with it," House countered, raising his head and giving Wilson a grim half-smile. "Foreman doesn't know who he's playing with. He might want this job now, but he won't when I get through with him…"

Wilson made a disapproving sound with his tongue, withdrawing his hand from House's hair, though his expression of thoughtful amusement didn't falter. "Really, House, it's not that big a deal. What did you expect would happen? That the board would just _ignore _the fact that a patient _died_…?"

"Happens every day."

"… as a direct result of malpractice on the part of a member of your team?"

"It wasn't malpractice; it was a mistake…"

"To the patient's family, it's the same thing." Wilson's voice took on a slightly sterner note. "There has to be consequences – and you didn't do it, but you're his boss. Therefore some of those consequences happen to fall on you. The best thing you can do is just stick it out for the next two weeks, and then enjoy punishing Foreman for those two weeks once things get back to normal."

House let out a heavy sigh, admitting nearly under his breath, "It's not Foreman's fault, either."

"No. No, it's not," Wilson agreed.

"It's Cuddy's. She doesn't _have_ to do this. She could overrule the board. She could always…"

"House…" Wilson let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as he sat up straighter on the couch. "You just have a problem with anyone else having control, that's all. You just can't stand the idea of someone else telling you what to do."

"So what if I do?" House retorted. "I'm his boss. He's not _supposed _to get to tell me what to do…"

"You may be brilliant, House," Wilson continued, his voice softening as he moved in closer to his lover, his hand running slowly up and down his side. "But you're not the only person capable of handling a little bit of authority or responsibility. Not everyone else is an idiot – and you have to come to a place where you can trust that…"

"Yeah." House let out a derisive snort, rolling his eyes. "I'll believe that when I see some evidence to prove it. In America, people are innocent until proven guilty and idiots until proven otherwise…"

"What about me? Am _I_ an idiot?"

Wilson's voice was strangely hushed, and House looked up at him sharply with a momentary sense of alarm – but Wilson's eyes were dark and hooded with lust, not betraying any trace of anger or irritation. No, Wilson seemed to be in quite a more pleasant mood than the one House had briefly suspected.

In fact, Wilson had been more pleasant and loving with him in the past few weeks than he had been in the entirety of their relationship. He hadn't gotten angry, hadn't so much as yelled – let alone struck out at House to hit him or push him. Apparently, he had taken House's ultimatum seriously, and was determined to get his anger and jealousy issues under control in order to preserve their relationship. House was cautiously allowing himself to be optimistic that things were going to be all right.

Still, he knew better than to push his luck with the type of insult he might have automatically issued in the past.

"No," he admitted softly, holding Wilson's gaze with solemn eyes as the younger man cautiously moved to kneel on the couch, straddling his hips. "No, you're not."

Wilson's hands gently cupped his face, drawing him close for a slow, tender kiss, before Wilson drew back to give him a soft, reassuring smile. "I want to try something."

House frowned, slightly suspicious of the secretive tone in Wilson's voice. "Try _what_?"

Wilson looked down thoughtfully, one hand trailing slowly down from House's shoulder to trace his wrist, before looking up to meet House's eyes again. "Let's call it a… an exercise in trust. It might… help you with your… control issues. And who knows?" He leaned in for a second, more sensual kiss before pulling back to whisper into House's ear. "_You just might enjoy it_."

House felt a delicious shiver of mingled intrigue and apprehension trickle down his spine, and he closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back as Wilson gently laved his throat with kisses. While House was distracted by his attentions, Wilson's hands gripped House's wrists and pulled them up over his head. He crossed them and held them there with one hand, freeing his other hand to trail slowly up under the hem of House's t-shirt in a light, ticklish touch against his stomach.

House couldn't help but wriggle instinctively away from the intensity of Wilson's touch, though his breath quickened and he drew in a sharp gasp at the pleasurable sensation. The gentle restraint of Wilson's hand on his wrists intensified his arousal, and he let out a soft moan as Wilson's hand dipped down past his stomach to run a single finger along the inside of the waist of his jeans.

"Can you give me control, House?" Wilson's voice was low and enticing, husky with his own desire. "Can you surrender and let me take over… just for tonight?"

House felt his stomach drop at what Wilson was suggesting – and the fact that he wasn't quite _sure_ what Wilson was suggesting, but it sounded a little unsettling. "What… what do you want me to do?" he asked, looking up through hazy eyes to meet Wilson's dark, purposeful gaze.

Wilson's sly smile widened slightly as he responded in a suggestive whisper. "Whatever I say. Can you trust me that much, House?"

House felt a little sick, remembering the last time Wilson had asked for his complete trust in a situation such as this – and remembering how Wilson had placed his belt around his neck and choked him nearly to unconsciousness, claiming afterwards that it had been nothing but a "game".

In hindsight, House couldn't help but notice that said game had taken place on the very night that he had taken Cameron out to dinner.

_But Wilson loves me… Wilson's been keeping his promise not to hurt me… and I… I haven't done anything… there's no reason for him to be angry with me… I can trust him, I _know_ I can trust him…_

Wilson was touching him so gently, so lovingly, expertly drawing his arousal from him until all House could think about was his touch – and in a single, fateful instant, he made the decision to surrender himself completely to Wilson's control.

"O-okay," he whispered, eyes closed as Wilson's hand palmed his swelling erection through his jeans. "Okay… whatever you want…"

"Good." Wilson abruptly withdrew his hand, eager glee in his voice. "You won't regret this…" House started to look up at the loss of contact, but Wilson gently placed a hand over his eyes, pushing his head back against the back of the sofa again. "No, don't… keep your eyes closed."

House obeyed, and a moment later felt something smooth and soft brush against his face. He recognized the shape and feel of it as one of Wilson's ties – most likely the one he had just been wearing. Wilson tied it firmly but not too tightly over his eyes, and House started with alarm, trying to sit up, one hand instinctively reaching to take it off.

Wilson caught his wrist and pulled his hand firmly down, using the weight of his body to push House back down onto the sofa. "Don't, House… _trust me_," Wilson urged him softly, running the back of one hand gently across House's cheek.

House's entire body was taut with anxious uncertainty, rigid and trembling, but he did not try again to pull away, or to remove the makeshift blindfold. "Wilson," he whispered, his voice barely over a breath. "I-I'm not sure…"

"It's okay," Wilson reassured him, running gentle fingers through his hair as he worked his other hand up under his shirt again. "Don't worry so much. You're safe with me."

A vivid image filled House's mind unbidden – an explosion of white-hot pain across his face as Wilson's fist fell and sent him staggering into the wall, murderous fury in his eyes – but he shoved the image to the back of his mind, willing himself to be still and submissive and allow Wilson to take charge.

"Okay," he whispered a little shakily. "Okay…"

Wilson carefully got up off of him and took his hands, helping him to his feet. "Come on," he urged him with quiet eagerness. "Let's go to the bedroom. I'll guide you…"

"Where… where's my cane?"

House blindly felt for it, but Wilson took his hand and pulled it away from the spot where he had left it.

"You don't need it," Wilson said softly. "I'll lead you. That's what this is about, remember? You trusting me?"

House hesitated a moment before nodding in silent acceptance, allowing Wilson to guide him toward the bedroom with an arm around his waist and a hand gently holding his. He was relieved when they reached the bed without incident, and Wilson guided him into a seated position on the edge of it.

_See? This is going to be okay. He's not going to let me get hurt, or… or hurt me. He loves me…_

House felt Wilson's fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt, and leaned his arms back to help as Wilson slid the garment back over his shoulders, then guided his arms up to pull his t-shirt off over his head. House focused on the soft, pleasant heat of Wilson's hands as they trailed up his arms to his wrists, then gently pushed him down onto his back on the bed. Wilson kissed his mouth, his throat, as he guided House's hands over his head and crossed them.

He drew back slightly, running his hand down the side of House's face as he murmured a soft but firm order.

"Keep them like that. Don't move your hands. All right?"

House nodded, biting his lower lip, his breath quickening slightly when he felt Wilson's hands at the fastenings of his jeans, working the button and zipper and then dragging them down around his thighs, bringing his underwear with them. House tensed, his back arching into the touch as Wilson formed a circle around the head of his cock with his thumb and forefinger and dragged it slowly, torturously downward.

"God… _Wilson_…" House let out a strangled moan, his head falling back against the pillow, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to obey and not move.

"Shut up."

Wilson snapped, and House felt his heart lurch in response to the harsh dominance in his tone. He bit his lip, suddenly feeling a cold ache of fear in the pit of his stomach. A moment later, Wilson's hand was in his hair, soft and affectionate and reassuring.

"It's just a game. I'm not gonna hurt you; you can trust me."

House nodded, somewhat relieved – but it was difficult to accept those words at face value when he had last experienced that harsh command in the midst of Wilson's violent rage. The last time Wilson had told him to 'shut up', he had accompanied the words with a vicious slap across his face.

Suddenly, House didn't want to do this anymore.

"Wilson… stop…"

Wilson went still for a moment, and when he spoke there was clear annoyance in his voice. "_What_?" he demanded impatiently.

"I… I don't want to… can't we just… do it like we usually do?"

House sat up, tearing the blindfold off with one hand and blinking against the too-bright light of the room. When Wilson's face came into focus, House's heart sank at the cold irritation he saw there.

"You can't trust me?"

"I'm trying, Wilson, but…"

House's voice trailed off as Wilson rose abruptly and stalked off into the kitchen. He winced at the sound of glass and metal clattering together as Wilson took out his frustrations on the dishes he was putting in the dishwasher. Wilson had inherited a coping mechanism for frustration from his mother – and that was cleaning.

House trusted his instincts and stayed away until the passive aggressive sounds had passed, wanting to make sure that Wilson's aggression was taken out _only_ on the dishes, and not on him as well. He felt sick as he sat back on the bed, trying to read, but unable to focus long enough to get past the first two lines.

He was relieved that Wilson had backed off when he'd asked him to – but miserable with the knowledge that he had upset Wilson and hurt him, making it obvious that he didn't fully trust him. A shiver ran through House's body as he imagined what might happen if he said the wrong thing, or made some small misstep, right now.

At all costs, he wanted to avoid another of Wilson's violent explosions.

_At all costs_.

Finally, he ventured out of the bedroom and slipped up behind Wilson, who was sitting on the couch, stone-faced, reading a magazine. He tentatively wrapped an arm around him, giving him a cautious kiss on the side of his neck – to no avail. Wilson deliberately ignored him, turning the page in his magazine as if House wasn't even there.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, so am I." But Wilson didn't sound sorry at all. He sounded furious.

"I… I freaked out. I didn't mean to. It just… Wilson… can we try it again? I… I think I'm ready now…"

Wilson finally turned his head, raising a single dubious brow. "You thought you were ready before," he pointed out.

_No, I didn't… and I don't now. But if it'll make you happy… if it'll calm you down…_

"I really am, Wilson. I'll do it now, I promise. Whatever you want." House paused, his voice lowered and heavy with self-conscious uncertainty as he added a whispered, "_Please_."

Wilson was silent for a moment, tense and unyielding – before finally rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh and setting the magazine aside, reaching a hand up to rest behind House's head and pull him into a soft kiss.

"Okay," he relented quietly, a forgiving smile on his lips. "Let's try this again."


	32. Chapter 32

"Look… there's nothing I can do about it. The storm has all the flights grounded. I have no choice but to stay…"

"Couldn't you rent a car and drive back? I'd pay…"

House winced at the wheedling, slightly desperate note in Wilson's voice. He took a deep breath, his head beginning to ache with the building tension of this difficult conversation. He had known that Wilson would not be happy with this arrangement.

"The storm makes it dangerous to drive, Wilson… and it'd take about fourteen hours. It's better just to wait until the morning when…"

"And Stacey's staying, too?"

The sharp, steely sound of Wilson's voice made House's stomach drop, and he swallowed hard. "Well… _all_ the flights being grounded kind of means that she's every bit as stranded as I am. Unless she's just holding out on everyone and taking her own private jet…"

"There's no need to get smart about it, House." Wilson sounded genuinely angry now, a hint of accusation in his voice. "She's there with you right now, isn't she? I just don't like the idea of the two of you there, all night…"

"It's not like that, Wilson. You know I'd never…"

"I know _you'd_ never. I don't trust _her_, House. You know that. I'm worried that she might try…"

"And I'd be such a pathetic, vulnerable idiot as to just go along with whatever she suggested, regardless of my own intentions?" House let out an offended huffing sound into the phone. "Because that kind of emotional weakness sounds _just_ like me, doesn't it?"

"You're not the stone wall you think you are, House!" Wilson snapped. "The two of you have a history – and I _know_ that she had a lot more in mind than work for this trip…"

"You're out of your mind. She's freakin' _married_, Wilson! _Happily_! And I've seen the medical charts to prove it, so you can just take your insane, insulting theories and…"

"Do not talk to me like that, House!" The warning tone of Wilson's voice made House feel a little sick, and he immediately fell silent as Wilson continued angrily. "Don't talk to me like I'm some kind of idiot! I know you two pretty well, and I have very good reason to worry."

A tense moment of silence passed between them before House ventured to speak again, his voice softer and more subdued. "I don't know why you're reacting like this. It's not like I _planned_ this. It's the result of an unavoidable circumstance – and _nothing's_ going to happen, I swear…"

"It'd better not." Wilson's voice was dangerously soft, and House's mouth went dry at the painfully familiar sound. "If you sleep with her, House…" His words broke off abruptly, and House could almost visualize his frustrated gestures as he struggled to maintain his calm, his voice trembling with quiet rage. "If you sleep with her…"

The abrupt disconnection of the call made House flinch slightly, and he stared at the silent receiver for a long moment, sobered and unsettled, before returning it to its cradle. The nauseous quiver in his stomach was by this point a conditioned response to the dark fury he'd heard in Wilson's words. He had the disturbing certainty that it was only the miles that protected him from a less verbal, more violent reaction.

_He hasn't done that in weeks. There's no way he'd hurt me; he knows I'd leave if he did. He's just… angry. That doesn't mean he'd actually… No, he wouldn't. I _know_ he wouldn't._

House made his way back across the crowded room to where Stacey was waiting with an expectant expression on her face. As he neared her, House was troubled to see her expression shift to one of concern, and he looked away, uncomfortable and self-conscious.

Stacey was one of the few people who always seemed to be able to see right through him.

"Everything okay at home?" she asked him in a tone that was a little _too_ innocent and casual, as soon as he reached her. "You look a little stressed."

"Staying overnight in a strange town, in a strange bed, when you planned to be home hours ago would make anyone a little grumpy – and I'm already grumpy to begin with, remember?"

Stacey studied his face as he deliberately passed her, headed for the airport hotel where she had already reserved them a room. She followed, wisely opting not to push him any farther until they reached the privacy of the room. Once there, however, she couldn't maintain her reluctant distance for long.

"Greg… I wish you'd talk to me."

House didn't look at her as he tossed his cane down on the bed and then sat down on the edge beside it. "I thought that's what I'd been doing for the past couple of hours."

"About you and Wilson. You know what I mean."

House closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, his eyes still focused away from her. "I do. And I've already told you – there's nothing for you to worry about."

Stacey was quiet as she moved toward the bed, reaching out a tentative, gentle hand to rest on his shoulder before sitting down beside him on the bed. She waited until he grudgingly returned her gaze to speak, her voice soft and even.

"You know I don't believe you."

House looked away again, his expression solemn and resigned. "I know."

"And… I shouldn't. Should I?"

House's silence was more than answer enough.

"I _knew_ it." Stacey rose from the bed, her tone angry and indignant. "I _knew_ something wasn't right with you two…"

"Everything's fine, Stacey!" House insisted, alarm in his eyes as they tracked her agitated pacing. "Whatever problems we have had in the past – which are none of your business, by the way – are over now. Wilson's in love with me – and I feel the same way about him. We're doing just fine." He looked away, a sullen note creeping into his voice as he concluded, "The last thing we need is some amateur therapist trying to tell us how to handle our relationship."

"That's not fair." Stacey spun around to face him, her eyes blazing with restrained fury. "You know that's not what this is. I care about you. I… I _love_ you, Greg." He looked up at her sharply, and she held his gaze, her shoulders falling slightly as she regained control of her irritation. Her voice was softer, reserved, as she added, "I think I always will. Things would never work between us again. I know that. But that doesn't stop me from caring." She paused a moment, her words halting and tremulous, barely over a whisper. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'll be fine," House assured her, looking away again, lest she should read the lack of conviction in his eyes. "I won't get hurt."

"But… you already have," Stacey pointed out gently, returning to sit beside him on the bed. "House… I've seen the bruises… heard the way he talks to you."

She hesitated, aware that the subject was incredibly sensitive, but feeling that she had no choice but to tell him what she thought, now while she had what might be her only chance. She reached out a gentle hand to turn his face toward hers, not missing the slight flinch he barely managed to conceal. She waited until he met her eyes to continue with soft, slow certainty.

"If he's hit you once… he'll hit you again, Greg. You can't let him think that it's okay. You… you should leave…"

"You're right." Her eyes widened as he cut her off in a quiet, terse voice. He slowly, deliberately reached up to remove her hand from his face. "I _should_ leave. Right now." He rose to his feet without another word, taking his cane with him and heading toward the door.

"Greg, no!" Stacey called after him, upset by his reaction. "Wait a second…"

But as he opened the door, his cell phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen before giving her a false smile and shrugging. "The team. I'd better take this." He opened the phone and spoke into it as he pointedly closed the door behind him.

****************************

House spent an uncomfortable night in the airport terminal, where he dozed a bit on the floor in between calls from his team and impromptu diagnosis sessions during which he used the wall of the terminal as a makeshift whiteboard. The next day, he avoided Stacey completely. When they were finally assigned a flight home, he made sure he claimed a seat that was far away from any other available seats, in order to prevent her cornering him on the plane and continuing to harass him about his relationship with Wilson.

Still, her absence did not keep him from worrying about the fact that she already seemed to know far too much.

Between the stress of his anxiety and the bone-weariness of his nearly sleepless night, House was exhausted by the time he dragged himself and his bags through the front door of his apartment. Wilson was sitting on the sofa, a stack of files on the coffee table in front of him, one open in his lap.

He didn't even speak as House walked past him to the bedroom to put down his bags.

House barely repressed a weary sigh as he set down the bags, a hand pressing against his eyes in a vain attempt to fight off the tension headache swiftly forming, pounding inside his skull. He sat down on the side of the bed, leaning his cane against the side of the bed and resting his forehead against the cool, smooth surface of the headboard for some measure of relief.

_This is ridiculous… suddenly he's not even speaking to me because I stayed overnight when I had _no choice_ but to stay overnight? I don't know how much more of this I can…_

His thoughts were abruptly cut off by an unexpected attack.

Wilson's hands were harsh and grasping as one caught a handful of his hair, jerking his head up to face Wilson, and the other fell across his face in a sharp slap. House cringed, explosions of sparks obscuring his vision as his face flamed with pain. He raised his hands instinctively in self-defense, but Wilson roughly caught his wrists, jerking his hands down, turning him and shoving him back against the headboard, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

"What, I don't even merit a word when you walk in the door?" Wilson snapped, his voice trembling with seething rage. "You come in after being gone for _days_, without even a _word_?"

"Wilson… don't…"

Wilson slapped him again, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to leave his cheek stinging and red. He dragged House off the bed by his hair and a clenched fist in his shirt, slamming him against the wall beside the bed instead, his taut, malicious smile widening slightly as House winced in pain.

"Why don't you tell me all about your trip, House?" Wilson demanded in a dangerously soft, leading voice. "Why don't you tell me all about how you and Stacey passed the time?"

"I swear to you, Wilson, nothing happened!" House insisted, breathless and panicked, holding up his hands in a pleading, placating gesture. "I told you, it was just… circumstances! We didn't have a choice. _Please_…"

Wilson slammed him into the wall again, raising his fist as if to strike, but stopping at the last moment when House flinched in anticipation of the blow. His face twisted in bitter fury, Wilson diverted his fist, delivering a brutal blow to House's stomach, hard enough to double him over in pain. His hand closed around House's throat, shoving him back against the wall again.

House raised his hands to grasp at Wilson's, struggling for breath, but Wilson caught his hands and forced them down, snarling in House's face.

"_Stop_ fighting me, you _stupid whore_!"

The menace in Wilson's voice sent a terrified shudder through House. He couldn't raise his hands, couldn't draw breath to speak, but his lips formed the soundless words as he shook his head in a desperate plea.

"Stop… Wilson, please stop…"

Wilson just tightened his grip on House's throat, leaning in close to his face with a chillingly cold smile, his dark eyes glittering with rage. His voice was unsettlingly gentle, filled with false patience, as his free hand held House's hands together in front of him, not permitting him the instinctive struggle he was just barely managing to restrain.

"You'd better be telling me the truth about Stacey, House. Because you need to know this: If you _ever_… cheat on me…" His voice lowered to a whisper, his grip tightening so much that House's vision began to fade around the edges as he gasped for breath that would not come. "… I will _kill _you, House. Do you understand me?"

House tried to free his hands, a soundless sob leaving his throat, but Wilson kept him restrained, refusing to yield. House nodded desperately, eyes closed as he began to feel weak, his legs starting to give out beneath him.

"Wilson, please… please no… _please don't_…"

Wilson finally released him, and House collapsed to his knees on the floor, gasping for breath, one trembling hand clutching his aching throat. Wilson crouched beside him, moving in far too close for House's comfort, and he instinctively drew back against the wall, trembling with fear as Wilson stroked a hand down the side of his face in a twisted gesture of possessive affection.

"I hope I've made myself clear."

House nodded, still breathing hard as he tried to recover from the terrifying assault. "Y-yes," he whispered, his eyes focused on the floor, unable to look at Wilson. "Yes… I-I'm sorry…" He added a soft, barely audible, "…_please_…"

Wilson said nothing, but he seemed satisfied, rising to his feet. House instinctively shrunk back away from his lover, who towered over him where he knelt on the floor at his feet.

"I've got to finish packing," Wilson informed him, moving across the room to the dresser. "I have a conference to go to this weekend. I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon."

House stayed there for a while in subdued silence, too stunned and bewildered by what had just happened to say a word. He was almost afraid to get up, afraid that Wilson might decide that he wasn't finished yet if House drew too much attention to himself. Resentment flooded him as he thought of how Wilson would have brushed off his concerns if _he_ had dared to question _Wilson's _weekend trip out of town.

House waited until Wilson left the room again to cautiously pick himself up off the floor, wincing as the movement aggravated his various bruises. He felt a suspicious prickling at the back of his eyes, a cold knot in his throat, as he limped stiffly toward the shower, hoping the hot water would soothe his aching body. As he locked the door behind him, he couldn't help but think that it shouldn't take locking his partner out to make him feel safe in his own home.

As the steaming water pounded down onto him, House tried to put his troubled thoughts out of his mind and allow it to relax him – but Stacey's warning words echoed over and over again in his head.

_If you let him do it once… he'll do it again. It won't stop, unless you make it stop… unless you leave…_

House's heart sank with despair as he tried to lose himself in the hot, pounding spray, because when all was said and done – he wasn't sure that he could.


	33. Chapter 33

All day at work the following day, Stacy kept an eye out for House. He had managed to avoid her completely from the moment when he left their hotel room, and she was eager to find a way to finish their interrupted conversation.

_He was so close to telling me the truth… to admitting what's been going on… If I could just talk to him a little more…_

As she passed Wilson's office around five that evening, on her way to her own to gather her things and get ready to go, she noticed that it was dark and empty. Apparently, he was out for the day. She sighed, relieved by that knowledge, thinking that it might make it easier for her to talk to House if Wilson wasn't around to intimidate him into silence.

She glanced through the glass door into House's office, encouraged when she saw that his team was not around, either. He was sitting with his back to the conference room, leaned back in his chair, bouncing his ball against the wall next to the window. As she watched in silence, he unconsciously slid a hand beneath the open collar of his shirt to rub gingerly at his throat, as if it was sore. When he drew his hand away, she got a brief glimpse of his neck before his shirt shifted back into place, and her eyes widened with dismay at the dark band of bruising she saw there.

Her emotions took over, and Stacy didn't think as she threw open the door and stalked into House's office. She felt a momentary pang of guilt as he jumped, startled, turning toward her with alarm in his eyes – but it wasn't enough to stop her.

"We need to talk."

Self-conscious, House turned away from her, not realizing that he was touching his bruised throat again, through his shirt. "No, we don't," he calmly retorted, tossing his ball against the wall again and catching it, not deigning to look at her.

Her voice trembled with mingled fury and pain as she argued emphatically. "Yes, we do. Now, we can talk here… or you can come over to my house… or I'll follow you home if I have to, but I'm not going to let this go again, Greg…"

"You don't have a choice."

Stacy closed the short distance between them, reaching out to grasp his collar and pull it aside before he could stop her. He tried to pull away, but her position gave her an advantage, and she held his shirt open slightly, exposing the livid bruises that marred his throat.

"Wilson did this," she stated, her tone demanding the truth. "He did this to you, didn't he?"

House finally jerked away from her, lurching to his feet and grabbing blindly with a trembling hand for his cane against his desk. He took his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, pushing past her and stalking out the door of his office without another word.

She followed him, not wanting to continue the conversation within hearing range of any of the dozens of hospital employees making their way through the halls, but having no intention of letting it go, either – not this time. House irritably quickened his pace, well aware that she was trailing him, but unable to get much of a lead on her due to his handicap.

When he reached his unlocked car and climbed inside, she was already sitting in the passenger seat.

He glared at her, his jaw set stubbornly. "Get out."

"No."

He blinked, taken aback by her simple refusal. "I'm not kidding, Stacy. This is none of your business, and it's not going to do you any good to come along. You'll just end up standing outside my apartment alone and stranded, because I'm sure as hell not driving you back to your car…"

His voice trailed off as her hand came to rest on his, and he tensed, but did not pull away. He stared down at the place where they connected, swallowing hard. Something changed in his demeanor in that moment, and Stacy found herself wondering how long it had been since he'd felt genuine physical affection, without having to be afraid that it might turn ugly and frightening at a moment's notice. His voice was low and hoarse, with a barely disguised tremor when he finally spoke again.

"Stacy… don't do this."

"I love you, Greg." He looked up at her, startled, but she pressed forward, holding his gaze intently. "No matter what, I always will. I'm your friend, and that's not going to change no matter what's happened between us. I don't want to get back together, or to cause any trouble for you. I just want to be here for you. That's all." She was quiet for a moment, leaning in closer as she added in a pleading, passionate whisper. "_Talk to me_."

He didn't – not right then.

But he did start the car and head off toward his apartment, without making her get out.

**************************

"It isn't always like this."

Stacy went still for a moment on the sofa beside House, afraid to speak or move lest she spook him into taking back the all-important first step he had just made into the conversation she'd been hoping for all day. It had taken several drinks and more than an hour of casual conversation, which had led to reminiscences of their past relationship, and then finally, eventually, led to the place where House felt comfortable enough to begin to open up to her a little, in his own way.

But she knew how very easily he might change his mind.

"He… he can be so… so loving… and affectionate. He isn't always…" House's voice trailed off, his fingers unconsciously touching his bruised throat as he stared down at the coffee table, his drink in his other hand. "He doesn't… doesn't mean to do things like this…"

Stacy listened as he continued to offer excuses for Wilson's behavior, trying his best to justify and explain it away. Finally when he fell silent, Stacy ventured a response, carefully weighing her words before she spoke them.

"You know what you'd tell anyone else who said these things."

House was quiet for a moment before reluctantly nodding, a grimace of shamed agreement twisting his mouth. "I'd tell them to run like hell."

She slid closer to him on the sofa, reaching out a reassuring hand to rest on his knee. "And you'd be right. No one should have to put up with being treated like this, Greg. He doesn't have the right to hurt you." She raised her hand to gently touch his cheek, turning his face toward her and waiting until he met her eyes to continue softly. "You should leave him. You could have so much better than this."

He studied her expression for a long moment before shaking his head slowly, his gaze falling for an instant before looking up again. A sad smile touched his lips as he whispered with full sincerity, "No, I couldn't."

"_What_?" Stacy said with gentle disbelief. "Of course you could…"

"Because my last relationship worked out so beautifully, didn't it?" he countered, but the sarcasm in his voice was gentle. There was no bitterness or anger in his voice, only a sense of quiet reflection. "No one else would put up with so much of my crap without walking out the door. You did for longer than most, but eventually…" He shook his head, looking away. "I'm sure this is no surprise to you, because you're one of the few people on the planet who actually _knows_ me… but contrary to appearances, I _don't_ want to spend the rest of my life alone…"

"You're better off alone than with someone who'd hurt you like this," Stacy pointed out, cautiously extending a hand to brush against the base of his throat, just above his collarbone. "If he'd… choke you like this, Greg… he… could have _killed_ you. You know that, right?"

House nodded, eyes locked onto the floor in front of him. "I know," he whispered, barely audible. "He… he said…" He shook his head abruptly, thinking better of whatever he had been about to say.

"He said what?" Stacy pressed gently.

"He… he's threatened to," House admitted, unable to look at her as he spoke. "Threatened to kill me. He couldn't," he scoffed immediately, waving a hand and trying to make light of his disturbing confession. "And if he could, he wouldn't really; he just… says things he doesn't really mean…"

Stacy's voice was flat and filled with quiet irony as the back of her hand brushed his bruised throat on its way down to the sofa between them again. "Yeah. It doesn't look as if he meant it at all."

House had no response for that, and Stacy did her best to convince him that he was really in danger – though she suspected that there was not really much convincing required on that point. House was the most brilliant person she had ever known; she was fairly certain that he knew all too well the kind of danger he was in, if he allowed Wilson to continue to abuse him.

What he needed to realize was that he deserved better.

They talked throughout the night, going back and forth as House wavered between his attachment to Wilson and his knowledge that their relationship was getting more and more violent all the time. Stacy sensed that he was on the verge of actually taking that huge step and walking away from Wilson's abuse, but just needed the additional push of someone else's support to make him actually do it.

"You need to break up with him," she stated for what felt like the hundredth time, somewhere around three o'clock in the morning. "You need to just tell him it's over, and he has to move out."

House winced at those words, and the flash of fear in his eyes chilled Stacy's heart as much as his soft, certain words. "He won't." He let out a quiet, mirthless laugh, shaking his head. "And this is my apartment!"

"If he refuses to leave… well, then maybe you should go somewhere else until you can convince him that you're serious. Go stay in a hotel room for a couple of nights, and if he still won't leave the apartment… you might need to call the police to _make_ him leave." Stacy's voice was low and dark with suppressed rage as she added, "You should, anyway. He shouldn't get away with hurting you like this."

"No, I'll just… just go." House shook his head. "No need to involve the police if I'm… leaving him." He was quiet for a moment, and a little shiver of apprehension went through him as he added softly, "He's not going to like this."

Stacy was quiet for a moment, thinking, before she asked, "When did you say he's getting back?"

"Not until Monday." House looked up, clearly encouraged by her implied suggestion. "I could be gone when he gets here. That might make things easier."

"Good idea," Stacy agreed. She smiled, relief in her slightly trembling voice as she reached out impulsively to put her arm around him, giving him a sideways half-hug. "I'm so glad you're doing this, Greg. It's for the best. I know you know that."

"I do," House admitted, not returning her affection, but not rejecting it either, his eyes focused on the coffee table in front of them.

"I should go," Stacy sighed, glancing at the clock as she stifled a yawn. "You should get some sleep. And when you get up, pack what you need and get ready to go. If you're already checked into a hotel room when Wilson gets back in town, it'll be a lot easier than having to deal with him trying to stop you."

"Right," House agreed with a slow, thoughtful nod. "He can't stop me if I'm already gone."

Stacy rose to her feet, stretching wearily before reaching down to pick up her purse. House rose with her, walking her to the door. She turned to face him before leaving, giving him a warm smile as she impulsively hugged him, holding on tight for a long moment before letting go to meet his eyes.

"I'm so glad you're doing this," she repeated, her sincerity clear in her eyes and voice.

He hesitantly returned her smile, clearly not as confident in his decision as she was, but encouraged by the prospect of escaping his situation. "Thanks," he said in a low, grudging voice, rolling his eyes as he added, "for talking some sense into me."

"Someone had to." She shrugged, rising up on her toes to press a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek. "Good night, Greg. I'll call tomorrow, okay?"

He nodded once, seemingly strangely shy as he slowly closed the door behind her.


	34. Chapter 34

House spent the next day packing his bags – then not packing them – then packing them again – all day long in a state of constant indecision over what to do about his situation with Wilson.

He knew deep down that Stacy was right.

Wilson's violence had escalated to the point that if he didn't leave, he could be in serious danger. The last time, Wilson had choked him until he had nearly passed out. The next time – Wilson might not stop in time at all. House had told Wilson he would leave if it happened again, and it was time to make good on that threat.

But on the other hand, he wasn't sure he wanted to leave the man he loved more than anyone else – the man who cared more for him than any other person on the face of the earth – possibly the only one who cared for him at all.

_But that's not true. Stacy cares. If she didn't, she wouldn't have gone to the trouble…_

_But she's married… has her own life. Once she's satisfied that she's done her part to save you… she'll return to her normal life… and you'll be alone…_

House knew that staying with Wilson could cost him his life; and yet, there was a part of him that wasn't sure that it was worth it, if the price for his continued existence was utter isolation and loneliness for the remainder of that existence.

For all his grand plans the night before… he wasn't really sure that he could bring himself to leave.

_And if you _do _leave… what makes you think you can _stay _away?_

House left his bags half-packed on his bed and went out to his car, thinking that a long drive to nowhere-in-particular might be just the thing to clear his head and help him gain a little perspective on the situation. A couple of hours of driving around and thinking brought him to the conclusion he'd already reached, though he'd been trying to find a way around it.

He had to leave.

_I can't let him keep doing this. And, if nothing else… maybe it will at least wake him up and make him realize that he can't get away with treating me like this anymore…_

He walked into his apartment and headed for the bedroom, intent on finishing his packing and checking into a hotel within the next hour.

Those plans fell apart in his bedroom doorway.

House's stomach sank when he saw Wilson, sitting calmly on the edge of the bed beside the two duffel bags he had been packing. There was a cool, knowing smile on Wilson's lips as he met House's eyes, rising slowly to his feet.

"You're going somewhere?"

House's mouth went dry, his heart pounding with apprehension as Wilson took a couple of casual steps toward him. He hesitated, but tried to stand his ground. He had made his decision. Wilson had crossed the line he'd set for him, and now there was no other option but to leave, before it could happen again.

"Yeah," he replied at last, his voice low and trembling slightly, his eyes averted as he reached for the bag nearest to him. "I just… need a little time away, Wilson. Need to… think about things… between us."

"Think about what, exactly?"

Wilson pressed, unsettlingly calm as he continued his slow advance. House was acutely aware of the swiftly dwindling distance between them, and found himself taking an unintentional step backward, his breath quickening with alarm. Still, he forced himself to meet Wilson's eyes, his expression solemn and firm.

"Whether or not… we should even be together right now," he replied softly. "Wilson… I told you that if you… if you hit me again… I'd leave. And… and you…"

Wilson's lips twisted into an unpleasant smile as he closed the remaining distance, and House jerked back against the wall beside the nightstand, flinching slightly as Wilson placed a hand against the wall beside his head, effectively hemming him in between Wilson, the wall, and the bed at his other side.

"It's your apartment." Wilson shrugged, still dangerously quiet and suspiciously accepting of House's words. "Why didn't you just ask _me_ to go?" He paused, his smile slipping, his voice taking on a barely perceptible edge. "Why didn't you talk to me about this, instead of slipping out while you thought I wouldn't be here like a cheating little slut?"

House cringed slightly at the demeaning words, swallowing hard. Something occurred to him then, and he looked up at Wilson with barely veiled suspicion. "Why… why _are_ you here?" he asked softly.

Wilson's breathtaking slap across his face drove the question from his mind, as Wilson slipped in yet closer to House, gripping his hair with one hand and hissing close to his face.

"That's not the point here, House… not even remotely. The point is that I can't trust you alone for even twenty-four hours without you having that _slut_ in our home _all night long_!"

House's eyes went wide with incredulous outrage. "You've been _spying_ on me? Wilson… this is ridiculous! You have to stop doing this… treating me this way! You can't…"

"What way, House?" Wilson demanded, cutting him off with a vicious, painful shake of his hand in his hair. "Like the pathetic little whore you are? Or like the useless drug addict who can barely get himself _dressed_ in the morning, let alone take care of himself?" The sheer disgust in Wilson's voice made House's face burn with shame, and he flinched at the cruel words. "You need me, House. You know you do. And I am _not _going to let you walk out on me!"

The second blow knocked House off balance, sending him staggering into the side of the bed. He scrambled desperately to reach his cane, leaned against the nightstand, intent on stopping Wilson before this went any farther – defending himself for once. However, Wilson saw what he was reaching for and snatched the cane away, furious.

"You gonna hit me, House?" he snarled, outraged. "You really think you're gonna hit _me_?"

House shook his head, holding up a placating hand, but before he could speak Wilson brought the cane down hard across his shoulder, knocking him off the edge of the bed onto the floor. House tried to get up, but Wilson continued to strike him with the cane, kicking him hard in the stomach and knocking him back onto his face on the floor.

"Wilson… stop… don't…"

House gasped, a sick, cold knot of fear settling in the pit of his stomach at the breathtaking violence of his lover's actions. He had never seen Wilson so furious, and he had never gone so far as to use any sort of weapon against House before – let alone the supreme insult of striking him with his own cane.

"I'll stop," Wilson seethed, "when you stop _lying_ to me and running around behind my back! You lying _slut_!"

"I didn't," House desperately tried to explain, grasping at the side of the bed with a trembling hand, struggling to pull himself up. "Wilson… nothing happened…"

Wilson brought the cane down sharply across the back of House's hand, and he fell to the floor again with a cry of pain, cradling the bruised appendage in his other hand.

"Stay down!" Wilson snarled, reaching down and grasping House's throat with one hand, pushing his head back against the side of the mattress and choking him, hard. "You're not going anywhere until I _say_ you are, and I am _not_ finished with you yet!"

"Okay… okay…" House whispered, holding up his hands in a desperate gesture of surrender, wincing at the pressure on his sore throat. "Wilson, please… don't do this…"

"Shut up." Wilson muttered as he released his grip on House's throat, only to slap him in the face again, causing bright sparks of color to flash before his eyes. "You think you're gonna leave me? Think again, House. I'm sorry, but I am _not_ going to let that happen…"

Those words sent a shudder of dread through House's body, and he swallowed hard, his mouth dry with fear. Wilson was completely out of control, and the last time kept playing through House's mind, as he remembered how close Wilson had come to killing him then. Wilson's words held a note of determined finality that House found very disturbing.

"Wilson," he began in a cautious, trembling voice, "we can talk about this. Please, just listen to me for a minute. Just… calm down and…"

Wilson's mouth twisted into an ugly sneer of irritation and rage, and he drew back one perfectly polished black dress shoe to bring it down sharply… right into the middle of House's damaged right thigh. House's mouth opened in a silent cry of agony as he doubled over in pain, trembling hands clutching the point of impact, as Wilson crouched in front of him, pointing an accusing finger in his face.

His voice was low and frighteningly calm as he reminded House, "I told you… to _shut… up._ Now, do you think you can manage that this time?"

House nodded pleadingly, eyes closed, fighting back a sob of anguish as waves of pain coursed through his body, radiating outward from the explosion in his thigh. Satisfied for the moment, Wilson stood up straight, taking out his cell phone and quickly dialing a number. As he dialed and waited for someone to answer, Wilson drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, visibly struggling to regain his composure.

No one answered, and when the call went to voicemail, House could barely hear Cuddy's familiar message on the other line.

"Hey, it's Wilson. I just wanted to let you know… House is having a really rough night with his leg. I know he's not going to be up to coming in tomorrow, and… I'll probably need to stay with him, at least part of the day. I doubt he'll be getting out of bed, actually. I just wanted to let you know. Give me a call if you need anything, and we'll see you Tuesday."

House's heart sank as he stared at the floor in front of him through wide, shell-shocked eyes and listened to the deceptively casual lies, his trembling increasing as the implications of them slowly sank in. Wilson closed the phone and put it in his pocket, glaring down at House with a grim smile.

"Okay, House," he murmured, reaching down to grab a fistful of House's hair and yank his head up. "You wanna talk? Let's _talk_."

********************************

Tuesday morning, House and Wilson arrived at work together as usual.

House's limp was much more prominent than usual, and his face, arms, all exposed areas of his body, were badly bruised. He made his way to his office without much incident – few of his colleagues would have dared to ask him what had happened – but was met there by a flurry of curious, concerned questions.

He explained to his team that he'd been mugged the night before, and had his wallet and his cell phone stolen – which was the perfect explanation for why he hadn't returned any of their calls. In reality, Wilson had taken his phone, refusing to let him have it and checking his calls, but not answering them.

Stacy had called eight times.

House winced slightly as he unconsciously touched the bruise just below his left eye, which he'd gotten just after the eighth call, when Wilson had hurled his cell phone at him in rage, striking him in the face with it.

His team readily accepted his story, and House easily diverted their attention to the case of their latest patient. However, they'd only been working for half an hour when Stacy found her way to his office.

"We need to talk."

House wouldn't meet her eyes, fighting off a rising sense of panic as he retorted, "No, we don't. I have a patient to diagnose, so why don't you take up your unresolved relationship issues with your therapist? Oh, wait… you already…"

"Greg," Stacy cut him off sharply. "I'm serious. Now."

"Later. Patient comes first. Ex-girlfriend with issues comes later."

House's team was staring, unabashedly curious about the conflict taking place before them, and Stacy gave up for the moment, determined to find him again later when he was alone and get him to talk to her. She had no idea exactly what had happened, but it wasn't too difficult to put the pieces together.

Clearly, House's plan to leave had not gone as they'd intended.

She hadn't even reached her office when she got a text message from House.

_Meet me on the roof 1 hr. Ur right, need 2 talk._

*************************

"House… what the hell _happened_?" she gasped as she approached him, already waiting for her on the roof when she arrived. She reached a cautious hand up to brush his bruised cheek, an anxious, concerned expression in her eyes. Her voice was a whisper of hushed horror as she added, "What did he do to you?"

House's voice was strangely flat and even, his blue eyes unusually dull as he held her gaze and stated calmly, "I don't know what you're talking about. I was mugged last night…"

"Bull," Stacy snapped, her voice trembling with anger. "When are you going to stop protecting him? He _did_ this to you! You told me yourself…"

"I say a lot of stupid things when I've been drinking," House cut her off, his voice still quiet, his piercing gaze unyielding. "I don't know exactly what I told you, but Wilson's never hurt me…"

"What do you call this?" Stacy demanded, her voice rising with panic as she realized what was happening. "House… _somebody_ sure beat the crap out of you…"

"Yeah… but not Wilson."

"House, why are you doing this? What did he say to you? Is he threatening you, or…?"

"Stacy… this isn't working out." She blinked, surprised, shaking her head in confusion. "You and I working together. It's… too much for me."

"What?" Stacy couldn't keep the hurt from her voice. "What are you talking about? It's been fine…"

"Mark's almost done with his therapy, and… and there's really no reason for you to stay. It's causing problems in _both_ of our relationships – yeah, I read your file, old news, but I know what I'm talking about – so maybe it's best if the two of us just… go our separate ways."

"No," Stacy insisted, her voice trembling with emotion. "No, I'm not going to let you do this. I know you're just trying to get rid of me because I know what he's been doing to you, and I'm not going to leave knowing that you're still with him and he's still doing things like _this_ to you!" She gestured angrily at his badly bruised face. "No. Forget it."

"I've already talked to Cuddy. I told her it's too hard for me – and the increased number of legal difficulties I've brought to the hospital since your arrival conveniently backed me up. That appointment you have with her for tomorrow morning? She's letting you go." House's tone was unapologetic, matter-of-fact. He shrugged slightly as he conceded, "Only, more nicely than that. She's already checked to make sure you'd still have your old job if you wanted it."

"I _don't_ want it," Stacy insisted, her voice smaller and defeated, as she realized how much trouble he'd gone to, to get rid of her. "I don't want to leave you like this…"

She reached to put her arms around him, but he swiftly caught her wrists, holding her at arm's length. He met her eyes, his expression solemn but unfathomable as he stared at her for a long moment before speaking again with quiet, resigned certainty.

"I'm not giving you a choice."


	35. Chapter 35

"You wanted to see me?"

The polite, professional words were betrayed by the wicked smirk on House's face as he stepped into Cuddy's office. He knew exactly why she had called him here, and was prepared to take the consequences for his latest stunt; he had gotten what he wanted from it, after all.

"'Want' implies that I actually desire for you to be here," Cuddy pointed out with a weary sigh, rolling her eyes as she gestured with one hand for him to come nearer. "This is more like having absolutely no choice because you work for me and have once again done something utterly insane."

House shrugged carelessly, his smirk widening when her eyes narrowed at the gesture of defiant unconcern. "Tomato, to-mah-to."

"Have a seat."

Her voice had taken on a slightly dangerous edge, so House complied with another obligatory roll of his eyes, leaning his cane against her desk and glancing pointedly at his watch.

"Can we get on with it? I've got a patient to treat, a team to harass, thumbs to twiddle… all much more productive than listening to the lecture you're about to give me."

"I'm fully aware of that." Cuddy met his gaze calmly as he gave her a surprised look at her direct acceptance. "That's why this meeting actually has nothing to do with the coma patient you gave a migraine, and everything to do with something a lot less pointless and more important."

House's suspicions were aroused by those words, but he was still taken completely off guard by what she said next.

"I want you to know that anything we discuss right now will not leave this office without your consent," she assured him, her piercing gaze studying him with far more scrutiny than he was comfortable with. "But… I spoke with Stacy before she left, and she seemed to feel that there was reason to be concerned about… your relationship with Wilson."

House felt his heartbeat quicken and his mouth go dry with alarm, but he managed to mask his uneasiness with a cool façade of subtle mockery. "Aww. If it wasn't for the fact that your utterly inappropriate question has absolutely nothing to do with my job here, and is therefore not only none of your business, but also downright insulting to both of us – that _might_ be kind of sweet. If it wasn't so creepy."

Cuddy didn't crack a smile or look away. "She was genuinely afraid for your safety. Is there a reason why she should be?"

"No." All traces of humor left House's voice as he answered with stony coldness, rising abruptly to his feet. "My relationship with Wilson is none of your business. We're done here."

Cuddy watched him go with troubled eyes, disturbed by his reaction. As difficult as it was for her to believe that Wilson was capable of such violence, she knew House well enough to know that if there was really nothing to Stacy's story, he would be responding with more mockery, but less genuine anger. However, she also knew that there was nothing she could do to help him if he refused to talk to her.

All she could do was to keep an eye out for him and hope for an opportunity to reach out to him again.

That opportunity was not long in coming.

******************************

Cameron made her way through the halls of the hospital at a hurried pace, her frustration and worry rising exponentially with each area that she checked and found no sign of her absent boss. Their patient was fading fast; they had to find an answer, immediately – and House was apparently missing in action.

_He was complaining about his migraine… a hot shower might help…_

Her instincts proved accurate when she walked into the shower room and saw House sitting on a bench in a room filled with steam. However, she only had a moment to enjoy the relief of solving the mystery before her thoughts were consumed with shock and dismay at the sight that met her eyes.

It seemed that the migraine was the least of House's problems.

It looked as if he'd been recently run over by a truck.

A towel covered him from the waist down, but every inch of exposed skin she could see was covered with dark, livid bruises and other marks. As she slowly drew nearer, Cameron noticed with alarm that the bruises were layered, in various stages of healing – evidence of more than one incident that had created the mottled patchwork of injuries that covered his body.

As she approached, House looked up at her with a distant, dreamy smile that told her he was clearly not in his right mind at the moment. Otherwise, she knew there was no way he would have let her get so close without making any attempt to cover his condition.

"House… are you okay?" she asked in a gentle voice as she crouched in front of him, studying his face with obvious concern.

"I'm… hallucinating," he explained, his voice slightly slurred.

"Right. Of course you are."

Cameron sighed, raising a hand to momentarily cover her face as she shook her head and tried to think. Her mind went back to the strange conversation she'd had with Cuddy that morning. The dean of medicine had called her into her office and explained to her that she had reason to think that House was in some kind of trouble, and had asked her to keep an eye out for anything strange or suspicious and report back to her. Cuddy had admitted that Cameron was the one member of the team that she knew would care enough to notice even the smallest of signs, and asked her not to say anything to anyone else.

_But now… it's time to say something. Time to call Cuddy._

************************

"Thank you, Cameron. Give me a few minutes with him, please. Go back to his office and keep working on the diagnosis, but don't mention this to Chase or Foreman, okay?"

Cameron nodded silently, a troubled frown creasing her brow as she made her way back to the conference room with more questions and fewer answers than ever. Cuddy sympathized with her concern and frustration, but she couldn't let Cameron know about her suspicions, especially when they had yet to be proven – though Cameron's story made it sound as if all doubt was about to be removed.

"Hey," she murmured as she crouched in front of House, who had not moved from the bench where Cameron had left him. "You okay?"

She tried to hold his gaze as he nodded listlessly, his head falling back against the tile wall behind him; but his eyes were distant and glassy, and she couldn't keep her own from straying to the evidence of the terrible damage that had been done to him, clearly over an extended period of time. Cuddy felt sick to her stomach, utterly appalled by the layered bruises that covered his torso and arms. She held back a powerful wave of nausea as she clearly made out two matching hand shaped bruises on his shoulders, as if he'd been grabbed and shaken or slammed into something.

The similar set of bruises on his throat sent a shiver down her spine.

_My God… he's lucky to be _alive_… _She blinked back the stinging tears that rose to her eyes, swallowing back her own emotions as she tried to focus on what House needed from her right now. _Stacy's right. Someone's certainly been abusing him, apparently for a long time now… and Wilson is the most likely suspect._

Her voice was gentle as she reached out a cautious hand to rest on his bare knee. It was only when he did not jump or pull away, just giving her a sleepy smile, that she remembered how skittish he'd actually been lately. House had never been one who liked to be touched – at least, not by anyone but Wilson – but he'd been especially nervous and jumpy lately, flinching at any unexpected sound or innocent touch.

Now… she knew why.

"House… hey…" She reached a hand up to touch his cheek, gently turning his face back toward hers. "What happened? Who hurt you?"

He just shook his head, a happy smile on his lips as he slurred out a response. "Doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts… so nothing happened."

"Something obviously happened," she argued softly with a dark, knowing look. "Somebody beat the crap out of you, House. More than once. Who was it?" Her fingertips brushed lightly across the mottled skin of his forearm as she added, "Who gave you these?"

"I can hear them," he informed her in a distant, delirious tone.

Cuddy frowned, confused and slightly impatient. "You can hear what? The bruises?"

"The colors," House clarified, staring down at his own arms. He seemed to be listening intently for a moment before he looked up at her, beaming smile on his lips, his eyes shining with a pitiful hope. "He loves me. The colors say… he loves me…"

Cuddy's heart lurched in her chest at those words, and the painful implications of them. Her mouth was dry, her eyes wide with stunned horror as she realized that Stacy's accusations were true. She shook her head slowly, studying his face as she ran a hand slowly back and forth along his arm. Her voice was hushed and trembling when she spoke.

"No. He doesn't, House. No one who loves you could do this to you."

******************************

An hour later, House was reasonably sober again, sitting sullenly in Cuddy's office. He felt sick to his stomach, trembling slightly as he tried his best not to allow his fear to show. He wanted nothing more than to simply walk out of her office and not return, to prove to her that she couldn't force him into this, couldn't make him do anything he didn't want to do – but the digital camera in her hand made that impossible.

She had him just where she wanted him.

She had Wilson, too – though he didn't know it yet.

House was not looking forward to the moment in which Wilson found out.

"This is really none of your business." He tried one more time to reason with her, his voice quiet and restrained to conceal his desperation. "I'm a grown up, Cuddy. I can take care of myself."

"Clearly," Cuddy flatly replied without looking up from whatever she was working on, on her desk.

"Just assuming for the sake of argument that you're right about what happened – which you're not – if the authorities can't force me to do this, what makes you think you have the right?" House persisted, his voice rising slightly with his angry frustration. "Cuddy… I can handle this. I don't want or need you getting in the way, trying to protect me!"

"You told me I was right, in the shower room," Cuddy argued. It wasn't _precisely_ true, but House's cryptic words were close enough to an actual confession for her. "I _know_ Wilson did this to you…"

"Right," House shot back with icy sarcasm. "Because anything said while under the influence of a powerful hallucinogenic must be the gospel truth. An hour ago, I thought the sky was pink… and I thought I could _see_ the sky from the second floor shower room. You gonna take my word on those points, too?"

"If you can provide a witness and physical evidence for those points, sure," Cuddy countered, looking up at last, her gaze piercing and all too certain for House's liking. She raised the camera in her hand as she continued in a level, unyielding tone. "You're going to kick him out, or I'm going to take these pictures to the police, with the signed statement Stacy left me, and get Wilson arrested."

House had heard the threat before, a few minutes earlier, and remained sullenly silent – but he knew that he had no choice but to go along with her plan. He was resentful and angry with her for forcing him to leave Wilson, and worried about how Wilson would react when she confronted him with the pictures, and scared of how badly he would miss Wilson when he was gone.

And maybe, deep down… a little bit grateful for the escape route Cuddy was providing.

"Go home," she advised, her voice stern and commanding. "Get your locks changed, and pack up his things. I have an appointment to meet with him around four, so that gives you the rest of the afternoon. By the time I'm finished stating my case, though, he'll willingly walk away before he'll see his entire career destroyed by this." She paused, her expression softening as she added, "He _deserves_ to see it destroyed – but I'm more concerned that you're safe than that he's punished."

***************************

Wilson was completely unaware of the events of the day, and therefore completely caught off guard when Cuddy stalked into her own office, where he was already waiting for her, and tossed a handful of pictures into his lap. He fumbled to catch them for a moment before going perfectly still, focusing on exactly what it was he was seeing.

His stomach lurched, and he his brow broke out in a cold sweat as he focused on the familiar images of House's bruised, battered form. He could barely speak, his voice choked and hoarse and hardly over a whisper.

"What… what the hell is this?"

"You tell me." Cuddy immediately corrected herself, holding up a halting hand as she sat down behind her desk. "No, don't. I already know. And just so you know, I have the negatives for those pictures in a safe place. And it's probably better if you say as little as possible right now. The hospital can't afford to have more than one member of upper management in jail."

"Wait… j-jail?" Wilson sputtered, shaking his head. "I don't know what this is about, but…"

"Yes, you do." Cuddy's tone was hard as steel, her eyes narrowed on him in cool scrutiny. "And provided you agree to my terms, jail won't be necessary." She paused, her eyes locked onto his as she continued. "You will move out of House's apartment and stop seeing him tonight. You will _never… touch_ him again. And as difficult as it will be for me to work with you, knowing what I know – I won't terminate your employment here, reveal these pictures to anyone, or take any legal action against you."

"Dr. Cuddy…"

"This isn't up for discussion." She rose to her feet, her hands resting on the top of her desk as she leaned across it to face him more closely. "Those are the terms. I'll check in tomorrow morning to see if you've done as I've asked."

"But… you can't just…" Wilson sputtered in helpless frustration.

"You're dismissed, Dr. Wilson. Please leave my office."

With no other choice but to obey, unwilling to risk further angering her while he was in such a precarious position…Wilson did as he was told.


	36. Chapter 36

Wilson waited to leave his office until he knew that Cuddy had already left for the day. He looked for her car in the parking lot, making sure that she had not lingered to watch him, before getting into his own car and heading for House's apartment.

Despite Cuddy's threats, despite his knowledge of what she had ordered House to do, Wilson still felt a surge of furious rage when he saw his suitcases and a couple of cardboard boxes stacked outside House's door. His eyes narrowed, his mouth tightening into a thin line as he closed the remaining distance between himself and the door, taking out his key and thrusting it toward the keyhole.

It did not fit.

Wilson knocked on the door, a burning, acidic bubble of fury swelling up in his chest when there was no response. He knocked again, harder, pounding the door with his fist and calling out in a voice that trembled with frustration and outrage.

_No matter what she says, he can't just shut me out… can't just throw me out with the trash like what we have means nothing…_

"House? Open the door!"

There was no response. A haze of red fury descended upon Wilson's visions, his thoughts, as he slammed his fist into the door again, then kicked it in frustration.

"House! Let me in! Open the damn door!"

******************************

House flinched as the door rattled dangerously against his back, closing his eyes and biting his lower lip, struggling against the almost irresistible impulse to get up and open the door. He didn't dare so much as answer, knowing very well that once he engaged in conversation with Wilson, it wouldn't be long before the other man convinced him to let him back into the apartment.

And when that happened, judging by the uncontrolled rage in Wilson's voice – Wilson would probably kill him. The violent rattling of the door behind him, the madness that tinged Wilson's shaking voice, were evidence of just how dangerous and destructive their relationship had become.

_Cuddy's right. Stacy was right. I can't let him in again, can't let him keep doing this to me. If I do, one of these days… he _will_ kill me. _

"House, open this freaking door right now or I swear to _God_ I will break it down myself!"

House knew that Wilson couldn't. The door was made of steel, and the locks were brand new and high quality. The only way Wilson could get into the apartment was if House decided to let him in.

And he wasn't going to – not this time.

***************************

Wilson eventually gave up – for the moment – and took his things to a hotel room.

By leaving early and going in late every day – which was very similar to his usual work routine, anyway – House managed to avoid Wilson for three whole days following their forced break-up. Wilson tried several times to track him down and talk to him, but every time House managed to avoid being alone with him; and Wilson was too wary of drawing Cuddy's wrath to push the issue in front of anyone who might report it back to her.

Despite his dubious success, however, House was under a great amount of stress during those long, precarious days – and his leg made its protest clear. His pain levels were higher than he had experienced in years… so bad, in fact, that he found himself seeking out Cuddy in her office, discreetly asking her to administer a shot of morphine to ease his suffering.

She reluctantly agreed and gave him the shot he'd asked for, but House was not surprised when she stopped him before he reached the door to her office.

"House?"

He froze in the doorway, his shoulders falling with resignation. If the price for the drugs he needed was listening to another lecture, he supposed he would have to bear it.

"Yes?"

Cuddy was silent as he turned halfway to face her, giving her an expectant look. Her lips were parted to speak, but no sound came out for a long moment. Finally, she closed her mouth and shook her head, turning away.

"Nothing. See you later."

Both relieved and confused, House made his way back toward his own office to continue working on his current case. His thoughts were thoroughly distracted by his personal issues, and he knew it would be a struggle to focus when he resumed the differential with his team. He stepped into the elevator, leaning back against the wall and drawing in a deep, shaky breath as he tried to steady himself.

He glared in irritation at the lighted numbers above the elevator doors when the elevator stopped on the second floor. He was in no hurry to reach his office, but he wasn't exactly pleased with the idea of sharing the elevator at the moment, either.

House's eyes widened with alarm when the doors opened, and he saw Wilson standing there. Before House could react, Wilson slipped into the elevator, swiftly pressing the door close button. He reached out and caught House's wrist when the older man reached for the control buttons, intending to open the doors again and escape.

"Let go of me," House muttered, trying to pull free of Wilson's grasp. "Wilson, you can't _do_ this…"

Wilson held onto House's wrist, pushing it back against the wall beside his head, pressing in close to pin House to the wall, preventing his escape. With his free hand, Wilson reached back toward the control panel and pressed the "stop" button before placing his hand over House's mouth to prevent the frightened cry for help he tried to let out.

"Shh-shh-shh," Wilson soothed him in an urgent whisper. "House… don't. It's okay. Relax, I'm not going to hurt you…"

House struggled to pull free, but Wilson slammed him into the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, then took advantage of his momentary weakness to grab his hands and pin his wrists together across his chest, returning his hand to House's mouth once he was done.

"It's okay… it's okay…" Wilson insisted, his voice trembling with his desperation. "House, I just want to talk to you, and I can't talk to you where she can see…"

House went still in Wilson's grasp as his panic began to subside, and his mind began racing to find an escape route. His entire body was trembling with fear, but with a great effort he managed to keep himself from resisting. Reassured by that, Wilson slowly, cautiously removed his hand from House's mouth, though keeping it near enough that he could replace it at a moment's notice.

"You're not gonna scream? Just gonna talk to me?"

House shook his head then nodded in response, swallowing hard, his head turned to the side and his eyes closed.

Wilson slowly lowered his hand, placing both his hands on House's arms and holding him in place against the wall. "Thank you," he gasped out, shaking slightly as he rested his head on House's shoulder, then raised it to press an intense, impulsive kiss to House's lips. He drew back, breathless as he repeated, "Thank you… thank you so much… I've wanted to talk to you so bad, House, I can't stand this… can't stand being away from you… I miss you so much…"

House bit his lower lip, fighting back his emotional reaction to Wilson's words and touch. He was so terribly confused, couldn't make sense of what he was thinking and feeling at the moment. He was scared and relieved at once, terrified of the violence of which he knew Wilson was capable, and yet desperately grateful for the tender affection, after three interminably lonely days without him.

A slow, knowing smile formed on Wilson's face as he studied House's shifting expression, which betrayed his conflict all too clearly. His voice was low and strangely seductive as he moved in closer to House, stroking one hand tenderly down the side of his face.

"And you miss me, too. You do… don't you, House?"

House didn't want to admit it, knew that it was the first step toward defeat – but Wilson already knew the truth. He nodded silently, reluctantly, letting out a heavy sigh.

"You want me to come home… don't you?"

House swallowed hard, his stomach doing a funny little flip at that suggestion. He missed Wilson, yes – _desperately_. But his bruises had not even healed from the last beating Wilson had given him, only four days earlier; and as much as he missed him, he knew that, forced or not, it had been the right thing to make him move out.

"Wilson," he attempted cautiously, a slight tremor in his voice, unable to meet the younger man's eyes. "You need to back off. You need to stop… trying to fight this… if you want to keep your job…"

Wilson's hands tightened on House's arms, and House flinched slightly at the sharp edge that crept into Wilson's soft voice. "Are you threatening me, House?"

"No, no," House insisted, shaking his head quickly. "I'm just… warning you. You know what Cuddy said. She's not going to just… let this go. And… I'm not sure she should…"

"What? Because I lost my temper a couple of times and hurt you?" Wilson scoffed, a slight smirk forming on his lips as he shook his head dismissively. He gestured downward toward House's leg as he pointed out, "I'm obviously hurting you worse by being away. Your leg's worse since I left – isn't it?"

"No," House lied. "It has nothing to do with you…"

"Crazy coincidence, then," Wilson laughed, his hands trailing slowly up and down House's arms, then moving to his sides, his touches becoming more and more intimate and suggestive. "But I don't think so, House. I don't think it's coincidence at all."

"Wilson… don't…"

Wilson ignored House's soft protest, sliding his hands up under House's shirt, leaving warm shivery trails in their wake. "You want this, House… you want _me_. She can't keep us apart, House. She can't tell us what to do…"

"Stop, Wilson. Take your hands off me…" House's hand tightened around the handle of his cane, his entire body tensed as Wilson's thumbs trailed just under the waist of his jeans. "You need to stop…"

Wilson smirked, meeting House's eyes with a defiant whisper. "_No_."

"Stop… _don't_…"

Still, Wilson persisted, bringing one of his legs in to pin House's thighs in place, holding him against the wall as his expert hands slid forward to begin to work the fastenings of House's jeans.

"Wilson, no… _no_!" House protested, a note of panic beginning in his voice.

Wilson was too distracted to notice as House extended his cane and pressed the "stop" button a second time to restart the elevator. Wilson drew back in alarm at the sudden sound and movement, staring at the buttons before giving House a disbelieving, accusing look – that swiftly turned dark and ugly.

"What do you think you're doing, House?"

There was clear menace in Wilson's voice as he reached toward the buttons again. He was completely caught off guard when House brought his cane toward the panel again, this time rapping it hard across Wilson's knuckles. Wilson let out a yelp of pain, gripping his injured hand in his good one for a moment as he glared at House in rage, cursing under his breath. He reached for House again, but House struck him in the shin with his cane, an expression of grim satisfaction on his face when Wilson stumbled back against the wall with a startled, angry cry.

"Now _your_ leg hurts," House observed, shaken but mostly composed, as the doors opened on the third floor. "Think it's because you miss me?"

He stepped out of the elevator, leaving Wilson stunned and sputtering with outrage as he made his way to his own office and the safety of the company of his team.

************************

House went to Cuddy for another shot that night, not at all surprised that his leg was acting up worse than ever after the struggle with Wilson. He didn't tell her about it, unwilling to create any more trouble for Wilson or himself, but hoped that another dose of morphine would ease the pain enough to allow him to rest that night.

When Cuddy confessed that she had given him a placebo the first time, House was stunned… and more than a little embarrassed. He was grateful when she started to just leave, and leave him to his thoughts – but she stopped in the doorway, turning and coming back to face him again with a gentle, thoughtful expression on her face.

"I know you miss him," she stated softly, and he looked up at her through startled eyes. "I know you… you think you need him… but you don't."

House relaxed a little, his piercing gaze locked onto hers, reading no knowledge of his earlier encounter in her eyes. He watched her closely, silent and subdued, as she edged nearer to him, reaching out a tentative hand to rest on his arm. He suppressed the flinch that had become his natural reaction, swallowing hard and maintaining eye contact, unwilling to allow her to see how easily shaken he had become.

"You need _real_… friendship. Affection. Love," she shook her head with a little grimace as she sought the right word. "Someone who would do the things he did to you… hurt you like that… that's not real love, House. That's… obsession. Power madness. He's not worried about making you happy… he just wants to control you… and you don't have to let him."

House allowed an ironic smirk to cross his lips as he observed quietly, "But I _do _have to let _you_."

Cuddy smiled, not offended by his honest observation. "Yeah," she admitted with simple honesty. "You do." Her smile faded as she explained gently, "I'm just trying to protect you… to be there for you. And I will be… no matter what. I need you to know that."

House just watched her for a moment before nodding once, his gaze lowered to the floor at her feet. Because he was no longer looking at her, he was completely taken off guard when she impulsively leaned in to put her arms around him in a gentle hug. He froze completely for a moment, unsure how to react – before slowly allowing himself to relax into the unassuming embrace.

It felt good, just to be touched again, without being hurt.


	37. Chapter 37

House missed Wilson desperately in the week following their break-up.

He knew that Cuddy was right. It was dangerous for him and Wilson to be together. Eventually, if he allowed it, Wilson would go too far one time and end up killing him. It was better for them to be apart. Wilson's desperate attempt to corner him in the elevator only proved that more thoroughly.

Still, that very incident left House more confused than ever.

It had felt remarkably good… liberating, even… to strike out at the man who had spent the last few months belittling and abusing him and making him feel helpless and without recourse. Striking out with his cane and causing _Wilson_ to stumble and fall, forcing him to back off, had just felt _right_.

And yet, somehow… utterly wrong.

_He has to love me… if he didn't, he wouldn't care so much. He'd just write me off and move on, like everyone else always has. Wilson actually cares… and that's something that's pretty hard to just throw away…_

House tried to focus on the memories of the pain and violence he'd endured at Wilson's hands. He replayed the terrifying images over and over again in his mind, remembering how frightened and confused he'd been, how helpless he'd felt as Wilson had hit him and kicked him and choked him, threatening to kill him if he didn't do as Wilson wanted.

_He says he won't… but he'll just hurt me again if I let him come back. I can't take the chance that next time it happens, he won't just kill me… even by accident…_

House arrived at his office three days after the elevator incident to find a narrow rectangular box wrapped in gold paper lying on his desk. On top of the box was a thin envelope with his name on the front, written in a familiar, elegant scrawl.

_Wilson…_

House's stomach felt a little queasy, his heartbeat quickening as he tore the gold paper from the box. He focused on what he was doing rather than acknowledge the somewhat discreet attention of his team in the conference room. They all knew that he and Wilson had broken up, though only Cameron knew why; and to her credit, she didn't seem to have said anything to the others, judging by the curious looks and questions he caught them passing back and forth.

He was all too aware of their scrutiny as he opened the mysterious package, to find a box of his favorite chocolates inside. It was an assortment of various coffee-and-chocolate blends, made and distributed by his favorite coffee shop. They weren't all that expensive, but that didn't matter to House.

_Wilson knows what I like… thinks he knows how to get to me…_

His jaw set with stubborn determination, House opened the bottom drawer of his desk and put the chocolates inside, giving his team a pointed glance and a smirk as he very deliberately locked the drawer. He feigned carelessness as he tossed the card, unopened, into the wastebasket under his desk. He stood and made his way into the conference room to begin the day's differential. He didn't offer any explanation for the mysterious package, and none of his team dared ask.

Despite his best intentions, however, House's thoughts were continually distracted by the envelope in his wastebasket. He caught himself glancing toward his office a couple of times, but forced himself to resist the impulse to retrieve the card and read it. When his team left the conference room to carry out their various tasks, he left as well, hoping that by the time he returned, the maintenance staff would have removed the trash – and with it Wilson's attempt at reinitiating contact – before he had the chance to surrender to temptation.

**************************

Fortunately, House's current case kept him too busy to think much about the tempting envelope in his office.

Unfortunately, his intense commitment to said case also led to his getting kneed in the groin by the angry husband of the dead woman whose heart he was trying to procure for his patient.

"You're mad at me. Fine, I get that. Take it out on me, not on her."

_Stupidest words ever spoken. Should have just let the old guy die. He won't last more than another ten years, anyway…_

But he still managed to accomplish his goal. Despite his violent reaction, the grieving husband agreed to the transplant.

"Fine," he flatly informed the anxious daughter of House's patient. "Your dad can have her heart."

Cuddy stood there in shock for a moment before crouching beside House, concerned and trying to help him up. House was never quite sure where Wilson came from, but he must have been nearby the whole time, because he was suddenly, there, up in the face of the man who had knocked House to his knees.

"You are _way_ out of line," he snapped, pushing the man a couple of steps back with a hand to his chest. "Dr. House could press charges for assault, do you realize that?"

"Wilson, stay out of this!" Cuddy ordered, her voice cold as steel despite its tremor of uncertainty. She really wasn't quite sure how to handle this unusual situation; but she was fairly certain that she did _not_ want Wilson to be a part of it. "This is none of your business…"

Wilson's eyes narrowed in anger at that, but he didn't argue her point. He glared between her and the object of his fury, demanding, "Aren't you going to call security? One of your department heads has just been physically assaulted!"

Cuddy gave him an incredulous look, and even through the haze of pain he was feeling, House was aware with a sense of alarm that she was likely to throw Wilson's own guilt in his face in response. Before she could speak, House held up a halting hand, indicating that he had something to say. He barely managed to rasp out the words in a hoarse gasp of pain.

"No. Don't… don't call security," he insisted. He looked up to meet the surprised, suspicious eyes of the man who'd hit him, his expression matter-of-fact as he added, "Not until he's filled out the paperwork, anyway. He has to sign the transplant forms."

***************************

House returned to his office a couple of hours later, weary and still sore from the blow he had taken. He was relieved to see that his team appeared to have gone for the day – and even more relieved when he glanced at the wastebasket and saw that it had indeed been emptied. The choice as to whether or not to read what was certainly a pleading diatribe in which Wilson begged him for another chance had been mercifully taken from his hands.

House unlocked his desk drawer and took out the box of chocolates, opening it and putting one in his mouth, savoring it and allowing it to melt slowly as he frowned in pensive thought, staring out the window into the empty night sky.

Despite his better judgment, he couldn't help but feel a little bit touched by the fact that Wilson had leapt so readily to his defense. Wilson had to have known that Cuddy would disapprove of his getting involved, and he also knew that she was watching him very closely, looking for any reason to bring his past crimes to light. And yet, Wilson had risked Cuddy's wrath – and possibly his job – by standing up for his ex-lover when he was attacked.

_He obviously still cares about me, or he wouldn't have chanced it. I wonder if… if maybe he _could_ change… but… I just couldn't be _sure_. It's a chance I can't take…_

House turned away from the window with a sigh, his morose gaze falling across his desk – and he suddenly froze at the sight that met his eyes.

The envelope was sitting on his desk, directly in front of him.

_Wilson must have been here… he must have taken it out before they took the trash out…_

Given his current mood and the day he had had, House couldn't decide whether he found that creepy or touching. He hesitated a moment before picking up the envelope and sliding his finger under the edge to tear it open. The card was plain tan card-stock paper, with no pre-printed words on the outside or inside. The outside bore only two simple words in Wilson's distinctive handwriting.

_I'm sorry_.

House drew in a deep, shaky breath and opened the card, steeling himself for whatever he might find there. He took his time reading the words Wilson had written, weighing their meaning and Wilson's possible motivations.

_I'm sorry I ever hurt you… sorry I pushed you to come back to me in the elevator last week… I know that's not going to do anything but push you further away…_

… _love you and miss you so much, but I know I need to give you the space you need to work this out, and maybe someday come to a place where you can forgive me…_

… _enrolled in an anger management class yesterday, so I can learn better ways of dealing with my anger, so that I can keep my promise to never, _ever_ hurt you again._

House's eyebrows rose when he read those words, but despite his determination to be wary and cautious, he couldn't help but feel a little stirring of hope. If Wilson was really going to get some help to deal with his issues, then maybe things could work out between them again someday.

A pang of impatient longing went through him at that thought.

"Someday" seemed like such a painfully long time to wait.

… _can't tell you enough how much I love you, how desperately I miss you. I don't want to be away from you anymore, you know that… but if it's what you need, I'll honor your wishes. The only thing I want from now on is just to make you happy and give you what you need. I want you to feel safe and confident and loved… and I'll never do anything to make you feel any other way again._

_All my love,_

_James Wilson_

House stared at the card for a long time, blinking back the unbidden tears that rose to his eyes. He glanced self-consciously around, reassured to see that he was still alone. It was far too late for his team to still be at the hospital – far too late for _him_ to be at the hospital, in fact. He tried to put the note and all the troubling thoughts and questions it inspired out of his head as he put it in his pocket, picked up his backpack, and headed toward the exit.

************************

House had been home for an hour, doing nothing more than staring at the television screen without really registering what was there, when there was a knock at his door. Instinct told him immediately who it would be, and then immediately after, warned him against answering the door.

His longing loneliness overrode the warning, and House found himself rising and making his way toward the door.

_Answering the door doesn't mean you have to let him in… you can just see what he wants and send him away…_

Wilson was standing on his doorstep, a small overnight bag in one hand. There was a penitent, uncertain expression on his face. He bit his lower lip before opening his mouth, struggling over the words for a hesitant moment.

"I… I was hoping that maybe… we could talk?"

House nodded toward the bag in Wilson's hand, raising an eyebrow as he met Wilson's eyes in a dubious look. "Expecting the conversation to last that long?" When Wilson winced slightly, House added, "Looks like you're looking for a little more than words."

Wilson gave a rueful little half-shrug, nodding slowly as he confessed, "I _did_ have… somewhat higher aspirations than… simple conversation. You know… depending on how the conversation part goes." Wilson's smile faded, his expression becoming solemn and pleading as he met House's eyes. "I'd really like to tell you how sorry I am. I've been making some changes in my life, and… I'd really like you to know about them." He paused a moment, looking down and shaking his head. "If you want me to leave then, I will. I just… want a chance to talk to you."

House hesitated a few moments, aware that he was on the verge of a momentous decision.

_Talking to him doesn't mean you have to let him move back in. It's just one conversation. Just one simple conversation, and then he'll go home if you want him to…_

With nothing more than a single nod, House took a backward step out of the doorway, and held the door open for Wilson to step inside.


	38. Chapter 38

It didn't take long for "talking" to devolve into a fierce make-out session on House's couch.

Wilson barely managed to get the words "I'm sorry" out of his mouth before House had fairly tackled him, pushing him back against the wall beside the door and kissing him with desperate intensity born of their long separation. Wilson's overnight bag fell to the floor unheeded as Wilson returned House's embrace, trembling hands roving over his body, slipping under his clothes, eagerly pulling him closer, as if he couldn't quite get near enough.

They stumbled their way to the sofa, where Wilson gently pushed House down under him, unbuttoning the other man's shirt and pushing it back to grant his hands greater access. House's hand closed in Wilson's thick, soft hair, drawing him into a deeper kiss, encouraging the younger man's efforts.

Within minutes, House was breathless, verging on completely out of control – trying desperately to remember why this was supposed to be a bad idea.

It just felt so _right_.

_But it's not. He hurt me, and I was supposed to be making a stand… keeping him out… making sure he _knows_ that he can't…_

Reluctantly, House pushed Wilson back with both hands, relieved and encouraged when Wilson immediately responded by backing off onto his knees, looking down at House with concern in his dark eyes.

"What?" he asked in a low voice, husky with desire. "What is it?"

House met Wilson's eyes with solemn intensity, swallowing hard, hoping he didn't look as vulnerable as he felt. His voice was quiet but unyielding as he made a soft, certain declaration.

"It can never be like it was, Wilson. You can't ever hit me – hurt me – again, or this _will_ be over, and this time… I'll _never_ take you back."

Wilson's eyes welled with tears, and he shook his head slowly, running a gentle hand across House's cheek. When House instinctively flinched, Wilson's eyes closed, pressing a few of those tears out to fall down his face. He opened his eyes again, an earnest desperation there as he struggled to get out a choked response.

"I'm so sorry, House… I'm so sorry…"

House swallowed slowly, studying Wilson's expression, searching for any sign of deception or insincerity. "I… I know…" he acknowledged at last, raising one of his own hands to cover Wilson's on his cheek.

"I'll never hurt you again, House," Wilson sobbed, lowering his head to rest on House's shoulder. His hands were constantly moving – running through House's hair, over his face, clutching him close as if he was afraid to let go lest House might fly away. "I swear I won't… please, I swear I'll never hurt you again…"

House was struggling with his own emotions by that point, overwhelmed with relief and uncertainty and fear and hope. He tried to control his voice, to maintain a firm edge, as he persisted.

"If you ever so much as… push me, or… or miss an anger management class… or give me even a single _hint _that you might be… losing control again… Wilson, look at me… look at me…"

Wilson reluctantly raised his tear-stained face to obediently meet House's eyes, and the penitent, broken expression House saw there melted the last of his reserves. Still, he kept his expression solemn and unyielding as he finished in a voice barely over a whisper.

"… if you ever _touch_ me, like _that_, again… I'll end this so fast you'll be on your ass outside the door before you even know you've hit me."

"I know," Wilson readily agreed, his voice trembling as he fell upon House again, clinging to him like a desperate, needy child. "I know, House… and you'd be totally right to… I know… but I won't… I swear I won't…"

He raised his head just enough to capture House's lips again with his own, and House returned his kiss, shaking with the relief of having Wilson there with him again, like this – loving and attentive and completely penitent for the offenses he'd committed. This was what he had missed, not just for the past week, but for the last few months. For a long time now, Wilson's cruel moments had far outnumbered the moments like this one.

But that was all changing, now.

_It was enough to teach him his lesson. He loves me. He loves me and he's sorry and he's never going to hurt me again…_

It wasn't long before they made their way from the awkward discomfort of the couch to the bed, shedding clothing as they went until each was bared to the other. House left his cane against the nightstand, allowing Wilson to push him down onto his back, lavishing his face, his body, with fervent, needy kisses and worshipful touches.

It was hot and frantic and desperate in its intensity, both having missed each other so much during their brief separation. House pushed any remaining concerns to the back of his mind, choosing to lose himself in the moment that had filled his dreams for the past week, and had now become reality.

Wilson was himself again, and he was there, he was _home_… and everything was going to be okay.

*******************************

The next morning… House wasn't so sure.

He lay in bed for a few minutes, trying to process the whirlwind events of the previous night. He felt a heavy sense of unease creeping over him as he remembered the determination he'd held before answering the door. He had been so sure that he was just going to talk to Wilson, not going to allow him to work his way back into his life so easily.

That _didn't last long_.

House sat up slowly, listening to the sounds of running water and quiet humming from the direction of the bathroom. He looked down the hall, his brow furrowed in thought, as he tried to come to terms with all that had happened in the past few hours.

_He promised me he wouldn't do it again. And now that Cuddy knows, if he _does_ break that promise again, I'll have somewhere to turn. I'll be able to stop him. It's only fair to give him a chance. If he's gone so far as to take anger management classes… he really does seem totally sorry…_

The thought of Cuddy brought another concern to House's mind, and he rose from the bed, picking up his cane and making his way to the bathroom doorway. Wilson glanced up with a warm smile before continuing the strange process of fixing his hair in which he was already involved – and had been for an hour, as far as House could tell.

"Morning," Wilson said, eyes focused back on the mirror.

House nodded in response before coming directly to the point of his concern. "How exactly are we going to do this, Wilson?"

"Do what?" Wilson's tone was light and unconcerned.

"This. Be… together," House clarified, waving a hand in a vain attempt to call to mind more eloquent words. "Cuddy…"

"… doesn't have to know anything," Wilson finished for him, turning to face House with a more serious expression on his face. "For a while, anyway. At least until she can see that you're okay… and by extension, that I've really changed. In the mean time, we can just do like we did before we told everybody, and keep it a secret." He shrugged slightly as he reminded House, "It's really nobody else's business what we do, anyway."

House's brow furrowed with worry as he considered Wilson's plan. "It won't be that easy. Cuddy's gonna be watching pretty closely, so we can't even let on that we're friends anymore, really."

Wilson thought about that for a moment before shrugging again, giving House a soft smile. "That's okay," he decided, giving House a teasing wink before stating with no little irony, "Secrets are hot." He paused a moment, sidling closer to House and placing his hands on his waist, leaning in so that their lips were mere inches apart. "It'll be our own secret… our own private world. I kind of like that idea, actually… don't you?"

House had never been one who liked to broadcast his private affairs, anyway. He had to admit that the idea _did _have a certain appeal.

"Okay," he agreed in a voice that was hoarse with sleep and repressed emotion, before accepting Wilson's kiss. "We'll give it a try."

**************************

House went through his day in a far better mood than usual.

His entire team wondered at the rare smiles he displayed and the quiet singing under his breath that they caught when they walked into the conference room and his back was turned to them.

Cameron was especially suspicious.

She knew about Wilson's abuse, and it hadn't been hard to observe the broken, lonely frame of mind in which House had been for the past week. She knew that it was normal for him to miss his lover, in spite of the way he had been treated. It made sense that it would take House a few weeks or even months to get past losing Wilson, even if it was what was best for him.

But apparently, he had somehow gotten over it overnight.

Needless to say, that definitely fell into the category of disturbing or suspicious behavior.

As soon as she had an opportunity, Cameron made her way to Cuddy's office to inform her.

*******************************

Cuddy ordered House to do clinic hours that afternoon, mostly just so that she could observe him herself. It didn't take long for her to notice the same difference in his behavior that Cameron had seen.

It was worrying indeed, but Cuddy didn't notice any alarming signs besides House's strange good humor. Wilson never came near House, despite the fact that he also had clinic duty that afternoon. They didn't so much as speak in passing. There were no new bruises or injuries that she could see.

_Maybe he's really just in a good mood. Does there always have to be some sinister explanation? Maybe that's really all it is…_

Cuddy sighed as she tried to return her thoughts to her work, with little success.

She knew better.

The simplest explanation was always the best – except when it came to House.

************************

Wilson got to House's apartment first that evening, setting down the grocery bags in his arms long enough to let himself in with the key House had made him on his lunch break that day. He was humming quietly to himself as he made his way to the kitchen with his purchases.

Things were finally working out well.

House had forgiven him, and was actually giving him a chance to prove himself, though he knew he didn't deserve it. Wilson was attending his classes and doing his best to deal with his anger in more positive ways; so he was certain that this time, everything was going to work out perfectly between them.

This time, he would keep his promise.

Wilson got out the wooden chopping block and a sharp knife, laying out the fresh vegetables he'd bought. He had plans to surprise House with a delicious, romantic dinner that night. He had purchased everything he needed for House's favorite dishes, and made sure that he had a couple of hours to work with before House would be home.

Before starting, Wilson noticed that the little red light on House's answering machine was blinking, indicating that there were two new messages. Wilson didn't think twice before pressing the button to listen to them.

The first was a telemarketer, attempting to sell House some kind of vacation package which would certainly cost far more than the value of the supposedly free gifts that were supposed to come along with it.

The second was Cuddy.

"Hi, House. Listen… I just… wanted to make sure you're okay. I know this is… hard on you. You know… with Wilson moving out and all… and I just… wanted you to know that I'm here for you, okay? If you need to… talk, or… anything. And… this is stupid. This is _you_, and I know you won't call me back, but… I just wanted you to know…"

Wilson frowned, troubled by Cuddy's interest in his lover.

_Yeah. I _bet_ you just want to make sure he's okay. More likely you're hoping he's not so you can come over here and take advantage of him in a rare moment of vulnerability. Slut. Well, you can forget about it. House doesn't need you – never did. He has me now._

Wilson didn't hesitate, just reached out to press the delete button, erasing both messages without a second thought.

The troubling thoughts that accompanied Cuddy's message dissipated with its vanishing from the answering machine, and Wilson felt his spirits lift again with the knowledge that all was right in his world again. He returned to his efforts with renewed energy and optimism, looking forward to the look on House's face when he walked into the apartment that night to see what Wilson had prepared for him.

House was _his_ again, and Wilson was going to take very good care of him.


	39. Chapter 39

At first, it was easy, and even fun, keeping the secret.

It was another mind game to add to his repertoire, another way in which House could pull one over on Cuddy and his staff. It was amusing – and a little arousing – to know that no one had any idea of what was really going on between him and Wilson. They gave him sympathetic words and looks, casting curious glances in his direction when they thought he wasn't looking, not daring to ask the questions about his recent breakup that he knew filled their minds.

But after a couple of days, the game ceased to be so much fun.

It was actually _too_ easy.

Usually when purporting this sort of deception, House would deliberately leave verbal clues as to the truth of the matter, intentionally making them wonder and doubt their own conclusions again and again.

The problem was… this game was not really a game.

House and Wilson could not afford to have anyone figure out the truth this time. It was far too risky to even hint at it to anyone – because all too often, his team members eventually caught on. If that happened this time, it would mean more than the end of House's mind game. It would mean the loss of a job for Wilson – and the loss of Wilson for House.

House gave no indication that there was anything secret going on between them, but he was particularly impressed with Wilson's skill at presenting the image of complete indifference to him. Wilson didn't speak to him, barely even looked at him when they'd pass each other in the halls of the hospital.

House knew that was what he was _supposed _to do – to make it appear as if he was obeying Cuddy's orders and keeping his distance from his ex-boyfriend. Gradually, however, insecurity crept in, and House began to find Wilson's act a little _too_ convincing.

************************

Cuddy was at lunch when House made his move.

Wilson was in an exam room, waiting for his next patient, when House made his way to the front desk and told the nurse in charge that Dr. Wilson had an unexpected emergency and had to leave, and he'd be taking the rest of his shift. She handed him the chart of Wilson's next patient, whom House easily managed to scare away (the rash she already had was nothing compared to the outbreak of ebola he claimed was spreading through the hospital), leaving Wilson free for the next half hour.

He slipped into the exam room, locking the door and grinning wickedly at Wilson as he crossed the room to slide his arms around him. Wilson abruptly pulled away with an alarmed, disapproving frown.

"House… what are you doing?" he demanded. "I'm not supposed to be in any contact with you, remember?"

"Oh, that's right!" House smirked. "How horrible it would be if Cuddy _wasn't_ on lunch and happened to walk in on us right now… Or, you know… if anyone else happened to have a key to this room… which they don't…" He pushed forward insistently, leaning in toward Wilson for a kiss.

Wilson pushed him away, irritation and worry in his voice. "House… no…"

"What, you think she's got cameras in here or something?" House laughed, trying to ignore the sick sensation building in the pit of his stomach.

"I have no idea," Wilson replied flatly. "That's not the point. All I know is that if I'm caught talking to you at all, she'll assume the worst…"

"You won't be," House insisted. "I took care of it. The nurses think you've left already! All you have to do is slip out of here unnoticed when we're done, and then come up with some fake emergency for Cuddy tomorrow. Simple." He shrugged.

"Have you even _considered_ how incredibly careless and stupid that was?" Wilson snapped, his eyes narrowed with anger. "Or do you just not care? We could get caught, House! I could lose my job! I could _go to jail_!"

Irritated and hurt by Wilson's reaction to his efforts, House turned away from him and started toward the door, muttering under his breath, "Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you beat the shit out of me."

"_What_ was that?" Wilson demanded, hurrying to pass House and block his path, giving him an offended look as he reached out to take House's arm in a firm grasp. "I thought you said you forgave me, House."

House swallowed hard, glancing down nervously at Wilson's hand on his arm. "Forget it," he muttered, eyes downcast. "This was a bad idea. I'm gone."

"No, House, wait a second," Wilson insisted, not releasing his arm when House tried to pull away to leave. "Look at me." When House reluctantly complied, Wilson met his gaze with solemn, unyielding eyes. "You said you forgave me. You can't just keep throwing it up in my face again…"

House rolled his eyes. "I haven't even _mentioned _it until…"

"_House_. Seriously. We can't move past this if any time we get in an argument you throw it in my face…"

"It was _relevant_. You _wouldn't_ be dealing with this if you _hadn't _beat the shit out of me!"

Wilson abruptly released him, taking a step backward and raising his hand to cover his face. "House," he snapped, barely reigning in his irritation. "You're right. You'd better go, before I… I'm _trying_ to…" He took a deep breath, looking up to meet House's eyes again, struggling to maintain his calm. "In my anger management class yesterday, they said that the 'emergency measure' when you think you're gonna lose it is just to get space… so… I think that's what I need right now. For… you to not be here. So… yeah. Please go."

House was taken aback by the request. He stared at Wilson for a long moment before nodding slowly and leaving the exam room without a word.

****************************

When Cuddy called House to her office that afternoon, he immediately assumed the worst, his heart sinking with dread and disappointment.

_Well, it's all over. Wilson was right. Shouldn't have chanced it. Maybe she _does _have cameras in the exam rooms…_

"How's your patient?"

"Just a little worse than she'd be if her doctor was working on her case instead of sitting in your office."

Cuddy sighed, resting her head in one hand for a moment before looking up to meet his eyes. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried that her expression was devoid of the irritation it would have borne under normal circumstances. Instead, there was only a sad sort of sympathy in her eyes. Her voice was quiet and carefully casual when she spoke, completely changing the subject.

"Did you get my message?"

House frowned, thrown off guard a bit by the question. "You left me a message?"

"A few days ago, at home," Cuddy confirmed, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she studied the look on his face, apparently trying to discern whether or not he was being honest with her. "You… really didn't get it?"

House feigned carelessness, giving her a vicious smirk and a shrug. "No, I didn't. Well… it's either that, or I erased it the moment I heard the tone of your voice. Wouldn't want to go into a diabetic coma from all that saccharine, would I?"

"Never mind." The slight tremor in Cuddy's voice as she looked away and shook her head made it clear that she was wondering why she even bothered. "Just… let me know how things progress with your patient."

House left, relieved not to have been caught with Wilson, and satisfied that he had put on a fairly convincing show for Cuddy – but his thoughts were racing, thinking back to a few days ago, and trying to figure out why he wouldn't have received Cuddy's message.

The only answer he could think of was extremely troubling.

He changed course just outside his office and headed back toward the exit with a purposeful stride. His patient was stable, and could afford to wait a few hours, until he had tracked down Wilson and gotten the explanation he needed.

*****************************

"You've been listening to my messages."

"What?" Wilson looked up blankly from the book in his hands as House stalked into the apartment. He shook his head, frowning, apparently at a loss. "What are you talking about?"

House walked past him to the answering machine on the counter, glancing down at the glowing red numbers. "No new messages, eh? Or just no new messages _you_ thought I needed to hear?"

Wilson set the book aside with an exasperated sigh. "House… you're gonna have to give me something to go on, here. What's going on? What are you so upset about?"

House's tone was scathing, bitterly triumphant, as he moved away from the answering machine to stand nearer to Wilson, who had not risen from his seat on the sofa. "Cuddy left me a message the other day – only I never got it. Now, my answering machine is in perfect working order – and yet somehow, the message she left never showed up on it. Care to take a wild guess as to what _coincidentally_ happened at just exactly the same time she left me this mysterious disappearing message?"

"House…" Wilson shook his head, opening his mouth to protest. "I don't know what you're…"

"You moved back in, Wilson. That's what. The day you move back into the apartment, I suddenly start _not_ getting my messages – at least the ones _you'd_ rather I didn't get, right?"

The trapped, guilty look on Wilson's face was more than answer enough. House's smile was cold, his laugh humorless, as he shook his head, turning away from Wilson in disgust and irritation.

"You can't just _do_ that, Wilson! You can't just _decide_ that you know what messages I need to hear and what ones I don't, or who I can communicate with and who I can't! Those are _my rights_, Wilson, and I thought we were working on not violating those anymore! Weren't we?"

Despite the angry tone of House's voice, the final two words took on an almost pleading note as House looked up to meet Wilson's eyes again, searching for some kind of explanation. Wilson sighed, looking away, his shoulders falling in defeat.

"House… I didn't mean to cause any problems for you. I just… we were just… getting back together, and… and she was insisting that we couldn't… she's _still_ insisting that… and… and I just… sort of saw red when I heard her voice. I didn't think either one of us really needed to hear from her." Despite his apologetic tone, there was something disturbingly calculated in Wilson's words as he studied House's reaction and continued slowly, "But… if I was wrong about that… if you'd rather have gotten her message… I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to… to control you, or make your decisions for you. I was just trying to keep her from interfering, but if you'd… if you'd rather…"

"Rather what?" House snapped, a challenge in his words. "Rather have her interfering? Frankly, Wilson? I would! I would rather have her interfering and giving us crap about this than have you thinking you're looking out for me by going behind my back and doing freaky shit like this! I can decide for myself whether or not I want to delete her message without listening to it, okay? It's not up to you!"

House knew Wilson well enough to recognize the angry spark in his dark eyes – and knew Wilson's reactions well enough to start a quivering sick sensation in the pit of his stomach at the sight of it. His angry words fell silent, his heartbeat quickening as he waited in tense apprehension for Wilson's response.

_Crap. Took it a little too far. He's about to lose it…_

But Wilson _didn't_ lose it.

"House… I'm sorry. You're right," he quietly replied, holding the older man's gaze levelly. "You're an adult, and you can choose who you do or don't want to talk to. I had no right to erase your answering machine. I just… I was trying to help, but… but I can see why it bothers you, so… so I won't do it again."

House watched in speechless surprise as Wilson turned and made his way to the bedroom, his book in hand. He thought about following, as he hadn't quite said all he had to say; but then remembered what Wilson had told him about his anger management techniques, and thought better of it.

_So this is the new Wilson, eh? Can't say I mind. Looks like the anger management classes are working…_

Despite his lingering irritation at Wilson's controlling, possessive behavior, House couldn't help but feel a sense of optimistic satisfaction.

_And she thought he couldn't change… He can, and he will. He _is_. And eventually, he'll prove it, even to her – and we won't have to hide anymore…_


	40. Chapter 40

House approached one of several poker tables in the room that had been set up for the fundraiser, a wicked smirk on his lips as he slid into the one empty seat around it. The game had not quite begun yet. Cuddy and Wilson were both seated there, along with three others that House knew only by name.

"Got room for one more?"

Wilson looked up at him in surprise, eyes widening with alarm. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, but House ignored him, giving Cuddy a bright smile that she found highly disconcerting. Cuddy frowned, disapproval clear in her eyes as they darted knowingly between House and Wilson, seated across the table from each other. Her voice was slow and cautious, but still carrying a note of unmistakable authority.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Dr. House."

"This seat was empty, right?" House persisted, all innocence. "And you haven't dealt the first hand yet. What's the problem?"

Cuddy's lips parted, but she didn't speak, her gaze taking in the oblivious others at the table. She clearly did not want to involve them in the complicated situation between House and Wilson, or to violate the privacy of either man. She knew that House probably just wanted to play in order to have contact with his former lover, not because of a sudden yen for a good game of poker.

Cuddy had viewed the surveillance tapes from the rooms where House and Wilson had performed their clinic duty, as well as from their floor of the hospital, which got little other traffic besides that of Wilson, House, and his team. She had seen the few times when the two men had been in contact since her ultimatum, and it was quite clear that House had been the one to initiate it. Wilson seemed to be doing his best to obey her orders, despite House's insistence.

_But what could happen with me and all these people sitting right here?_ Cuddy reasoned. _It's not as if Wilson can drag him off and hurt him in front of me… if he even wanted to. What's the harm in an innocent game of poker?_

The game proceeded without incident – but only for a few minutes. Someone came in to inform Cuddy of a situation with a young patient of hers. It didn't seem to be anything serious and she quickly returned her attention to the game.

House apparently had other ideas.

He left the game as abruptly as he'd joined it, apparently convinced that there was something more seriously wrong with her patient than she'd guessed. Certain that he was simply making something out of nothing, Cuddy focused on winning the next hand, just relieved that he had found a distraction strong enough to pull him away from his unhealthy obsession with Wilson – at least for the moment.

*******************************

During the next twenty minutes, Wilson allowed himself to lose the modest amount of money he'd bet and discreetly excused himself from the table. He moved further into the room, making sure Cuddy saw that he was not actually leaving, then waited until her attention was focused back on the game to slip past her and make his way toward the elevators.

House's team was already off on his errands, in the beginning stages of diagnosis, when Wilson found House sitting in his office. It was the one place in the hospital that they were both fairly certain had no cameras planted by Cuddy, if only because House had found the first three she'd left there and left them on her desk. After that, he hadn't found another one. Both thought it fairly safe to assume that she'd given up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Wilson demanded from the doorway.

House barely looked up from the chart in his hand, tapping the marker in his hand against the table on which he was perched. The whiteboard was already half-filled with his distinctive handwriting.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he shot back, distracted. "I'm diagnosing."

"No, what _were_ you doing? Downstairs," Wilson clarified, sounding irritated. "Are you just _trying_ to piss Cuddy off? I've spent the last few weeks just trying to get her to treat me like something better than dirt on the bottom of her shoe, and you're deliberately provoking her? I was just glad she let me sit down at her table in the first place! And then you have to go and…"

"Think about this for a minute, Wilson," House responded, sounding almost bored as he got up to write something else on the whiteboard. "She's not stupid. Sooner or later she's going to figure out something is still going on between us. Don't you think it's better if when that time comes, she thinks it's just me pining over you because I can't have you, instead of the truth? She can't fire you because of what I feel, can she?"

Wilson was a little taken aback by the explanation. He wasn't entirely sure that House's assumptions were accurate, but it was touching to think that House was willing to sacrifice his own pride for Wilson's job and reputation.

"Seriously?" His voice was softer, a little subdued. "You'd do that for me?"

"I'm doing it, aren't I?"

House gave Wilson a tight smile that softened with affection when he looked up to see the expression of awe and gratitude on his face. He rose from his seat and made his way slowly to the spot just inside the door where Wilson stood. He surprised Wilson by passing him, but then his intentions were made clear when he silently drew the blinds, shielding his office and the conference room from the view of anyone in the hallway.

"I can't take being here with you all day and not even seeing you for a moment," he confessed, sounding a little embarrassed by the sentiment, his eyes downcast as he moved to stand directly facing Wilson, reaching out a tentative hand to brush up and down his sleeve. "If this will give us a little… a little breathing room… or insurance… or whatever, then… then I'm willing to do it."

Wilson smiled, moving in close to gently embrace House, rewarding him with a slow, tender kiss before withdrawing to meet his eyes. "I love you."

House tucked his head slightly, nodding. "Me, too."

"Where's your team?"

"Drawing blood."

"All three of them?"

"Drawing blood and talking about how I've probably lost my mind."

Wilson's mouth twitched slightly with amusement. "Oh. That _does_ require at least three people." His smile faded slightly as he observed, "So… they'll be back any minute, then."

"Yeah."

Reluctantly Wilson removed his hands from House's arms, taking a backward step toward the balcony. "Guess I'd better go this way, then. Wouldn't look right, me coming from your office with the blinds drawn and all…"

"Right."

House watched with a quiet smile as Wilson made his way across the balcony and to his own office. Wilson really seemed to be doing better with keeping his temper in check. He had been irritated and angry with House before he'd understood his actions, but he hadn't so much as raised his voice, let alone struck out in violence.

_If things go on like this for a few weeks more… and he finishes those anger management classes… maybe we can talk to Cuddy again, and we can be done with all this hiding. Maybe things can finally go back to normal._

*******************************

Wilson didn't feel like going back to the party. There was too much on his mind. He turned on the lamp in his office and sat at his desk for a while, doing the kind of mindless paperwork that allowed him to focus on his thoughts – and the goings on in House's office, as well.

When House's team returned, Wilson could clearly see them through his own office windows. He frowned when he noticed Cameron, dressed in a stunning red gown; and his frown deepened when he noticed _House_ noticing Cameron.

He couldn't exactly blame him.

The girl was taking full advantage of her good looks, having chosen a dress that perfectly accentuated her physical assets. Wilson had no doubt that it was indeed deliberate on her part. His chest burned with jealousy when he saw Cameron lean into House's space, pointing to something on the x-ray they'd taken. He didn't think she really was all that concerned with the x-ray.

_Little whore. House is mine. It doesn't matter how you try to entice him away from me; I won't let you have him…_

**************************

It was early morning before House finally made his way home, exhausted but satisfied. He had solved the case, as usual, in the process laying to rest a much older medical mystery that had plagued him for years. He threw his backpack down on the sofa, ready to just fall into bed and sleep until the next morning.

_Twenty-four straight hours of sleep never hurt anyone…_

His thoughts trailed off when he saw Wilson, wide awake, sitting up in the bed, apparently waiting for him to return. House blinked, surprised, before continuing into the bedroom, wearily stripping off his clothes as he sat down on the side of the bed.

"Hey."

"Hey." Wilson's tone was quiet and composed. "You solve it?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

House froze when he felt strong, familiar hands sliding over the bare skin of his torso, pulling him insistently back onto the bed. He was surprised that Wilson was even _awake _at this hour, let alone in the mood for anything sexual. For his part, House was far too tired.

"Wilson… I've been up for nearly twenty-four hours…"

"Then another one won't kill you," Wilson murmured against his throat as he shifted his body to rest over House's, skilled hands moving downward, coaxing House's body to respond to his advances. "Come on. I missed you last night."

"It was just one night, Wilson," House countered, a whine creeping into his voice. "We just finished going _weeks_ without…"

"I never wanna go through that again." Wilson's voice hardened slightly, and House felt a shiver go down his spine. "You're _mine_… and I'm yours… and that's _never_ going to change…"

"Of course it isn't," House agreed, puzzled by Wilson's behavior as the younger man persisted, his hands running possessively over House's body, his mouth slowly trailing along his jaw line. "Wilson… what is this about?"

"Nothing," Wilson insisted, irritation and impatience in his voice. "I just want you, that's all… I want you so bad…"

House found his resolve wavering under the dual weight of Wilson's insistence and his own exhaustion. It seemed easier just to go along with what Wilson wanted so he could get some rest. That – and the way Wilson was touching him was actually starting to work. He could feel his body responding as Wilson trailed expert fingers slowly up and down his inner thigh, stopping on occasion to slowly circle their way around his swiftly swelling erection.

"I need you, House… I love you…"

House raised weary arms to wrap around Wilson, pulling him closer, and finally returned his kiss, inviting him to continue – not that he'd been waiting for an invitation.

In fact, as they continued, Wilson's hands became gradually firmer, more possessive and demanding. House bit back a whimper as Wilson's hand closed tightly around his cock, stroking hard enough to be just short of painful, then stopping abruptly, squeezing until House drew in a sharp gasp of alarm.

"Wilson…"

"You're mine… tell me you're mine…" Wilson demanded, his voice hoarse and intense as the fingers of his free hand dug into House's hip. "Only mine…"

"Wilson… what…?"

"Say it."

House bit back a groan as Wilson's thumb pressed a slow line up and down the length of House's trapped, throbbing erection. He reached down to pull Wilson's hand away, but Wilson caught his wrist and pressed it down against the mattress.

"_Say it_."

"Okay, okay…" House gasped out. "I'm yours, Wilson… you know I am… what are you… _Gahhh_!"

With a swift twist and a downward stroke of his hand, Wilson brought House to his completion. Almost immediately, his hands, his mouth, became gentle and tender again. House's mind was hazy in the afterglow of his orgasm, as he tried to process what had just happened, wondering what had gotten into Wilson to make him behave this way.

Wilson hadn't been violent, exactly; but he had been very aggressive and dominant, as if he was not making love so much as staking his claim – not that House could really complain about the ultimate result. At any rate, he was so exhausted that he felt himself slipping into sleep within moments, his worries and wonderings drifting away into peaceful rest.


	41. Chapter 41

The door to the exam room opened with a bang as Cuddy strode in, furious; but House barely stirred from the spot where he lay, stealing a brief nap between his last patient and the next one – which he had gone to great lengths to make sure would not be showing up any time soon.

"House!" Cuddy snapped. "You've seen one patient in the last two hours!"

"Yes, but the stupidity of that one patient was overwhelming. I'm traumatized. I think I'll need to take the rest of the day…"

"House, you owe me four hours today, and that's what you're going to give me!" Cuddy insisted, cutting him off as she crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to give any ground. After a moment, however, her frown deepened with reluctant concern. "Why are you so tired today, anyway? Late night?"

"Clubbing," House replied with a nod, without missing a beat. "I danced 'til I… wait a minute. I can't dance. Since that's obviously a lie, that must mean it's none of your business."

What he couldn't tell her was that his exhaustion was due to the late night he'd spent with Wilson, who seemed increasingly insatiable these days when it came to their sex life. House knew that not being able to openly acknowledge their relationship was causing Wilson to feel more needy and possessive in private, as if he had to somehow prove his claim on the other man beyond any doubt.

House had no idea who he thought he was proving it to; it should have been clear that House didn't want anyone else.

Cuddy's eyes narrowed in suspicion at House's retort, and she took a step back, surveying him closely. "You've been in an awfully good mood lately…"

"Awfully good? Isn't that an oxymoron?"

Cuddy ignored the bait, shaking her head slightly as she went on. "Unexplained exhaustion, unusually good mood. House… are you still seeing Wilson?"

"Aren't I allowed to be in a good mood?" House countered. "Or is _that_ against your rules, too? And don't you think it's a little twisted that while you openly acknowledge that my being happy would be a result of being with Wilson, you still feel the need to keep us separated? You're one sick puppy, Cuddy…"

"_House._"

"No," House snapped, abruptly irritable. "I'm not still seeing him. Happy?"

He rose without a word, striding past her toward the door.

"House… _wait._"

"I can catch up the clinic hours later…"

"No, not that." Cuddy sighed, aware that she had no choice but to relent on that issue for the moment as she held out the file in her hand. "The clinic hours will have to wait. You have a case."

*****************************

House made a conscious effort to keep his distance from Wilson for the rest of the day.

He thought that his plan to throw Cuddy off the trail by allowing his feelings for Wilson to remain obvious had been working. Apparently, somehow, Cuddy was still suspicious. They couldn't afford for her to figure out their secret before they were ready to reveal it to her on their own. Wilson couldn't lose his job over their relationship.

House knew that that evening, they would have to talk.

He waited to broach the subject until after they'd enjoyed the delicious dinner Wilson prepared and were sitting comfortably on the sofa, Wilson idly surfing through the channels with the remote control.

"Wilson… we need to be more careful at work."

Wilson frowned, clearly puzzled, not knowing where the topic was coming from. "Okay," he replied slowly. "I thought we _were_ being careful."

"Apparently not careful enough. Cuddy's getting suspicious. She asked me today if I was still seeing you," House explained.

Wilson shook his head, rolling his eyes. "She's asking, but she doesn't have any proof. All she's got is her own suspicions…"

"She figured it out because… because I was so tired today. It made her think that I might have spent the night with you," House cautiously pointed out. "I think we need to be careful not to give her any more reason to think…"

"She already monitors our every move at work." Wilson cut him off in a sharp voice that trembled with anger. "She keeps us from talking to each other or spending any time together there. She controls everything else; I'm not going to let her control our sex lives, too!"

"I'm not saying we need to let her control it, I'm just saying we need to be careful…"

"We're already _being_ careful!" Wilson snapped, slamming the remote down on the arm of the sofa with barely restrained fury. "We can't just let her run our lives!"

House didn't mean to flinch at the anger in Wilson's voice and actions. He knew that anger wasn't even really directed at him. Still, somehow, he couldn't help but tense and brace himself for an attack when Wilson raised his voice like that. It was almost a conditioned response at this point.

He just hoped that Wilson wouldn't notice his fearful reaction.

The utter silence that fell immediately following it made it clear that he _had_ noticed it.

House was quiet, looking away, unable to face Wilson due to his own embarrassment at his reaction. He bit his lower lip, feeing the weight of the awkward tension that had descended between them. Wilson was the first to break the silence, his voice soft and cautious, yet tinged with hurt.

"You still don't trust me?"

House shrugged, feeling uncomfortable as he sought the appeasing words to set Wilson's mind at ease. He couldn't possibly tell him how he _really_ felt, so he tried to find the right excuse to make Wilson let it go.

"You just startled me, Wilson, that's all. It was nothing. You raised your voice, and it surprised me. That's it. It has nothing to do with whether or not I trust you…"

"No, House, it was more than that," Wilson insisted, turning on the sofa in an attempt to fully face his lover. "House… look at me. _Please_."

House rolled his eyes, reluctantly returning Wilson's gaze with a nervous, unconvincing laugh. "Wilson, come on," he scoffed. "It's nothing. So I flinched. It doesn't have to _mean_ anything. It's an involuntary physical reaction…"

"… to the emotional condition of fear," Wilson finished for him pointedly. "House… you flinched because you thought, if only for a split-second and only subconsciously, that I might actually hurt you."

"No, Wilson, I know you're not gonna…"

"House, would you _listen _to me instead of lying to me for a second?"

Wilson sounded exasperated, but not angry, as he reached out to touch House's arm, gently tugging him around in his seat to face him. He waited until House grudgingly met his eyes again to continue, holding his gaze with an intent, impassioned expression of love and devotion.

"You have to know that I am _never_ going to hurt you again. I swear. I'll never hurt you, House." Wilson paused, shrugging slightly as he looked away before meeting House's eyes again and continuing. "I'm angry, yeah – but not at _you_. At Cuddy. She's the one who's causing our problem. And even if I _was_ angry with you… it doesn't have to be a horrible thing. Couples fight. It happens." He shrugged again, letting out a disarming laugh. "You can't think that every time I raise my voice or get a little irritated, it means I'm going to hit you…"

"Well, you'll have to pardon my uncertainty, Wilson," House cut him off, his tone sharp and trembling slightly with anger born of embarrassment as he abruptly pulled his arm away from Wilson's gentle grasp. "Assuming the opposite really didn't work out so well for me."

This time it was Wilson who winced at the words, his hand falling away from House as an expression of hurt and dismay came over his face. "House… I'm sorry. I can't undo it. I wish I could; I'd give anything to take it back. But… but you said you'd forgiven me, and we can't move forward if you can't get past this…"

"And _you_ can't just demand that I get past it and expect me to be able to do it on command!" House shot back, rising suddenly to his feet, taking a backward step away from the couch where Wilson still sat, stunned by his reaction. "You're the one who beat the crap out of me for no reason, over and over again! You don't get to dictate the terms on which I 'get over it'!"

Without waiting for Wilson's defense, House turned and limped away toward the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind him. Wilson sat there in silence on the sofa for a long moment, just trying to process what had just happened. He thought about going to the door and asking or begging or _demanding_ entrance; but his instincts told him now was not the time.

He had asked House for space to deal with things, and House had graciously granted it.

The least he could do was to do the same for House.

He buried his anger and frustration with a forcible effort, deliberately focusing his thoughts elsewhere. He went to the closet and took down the extra blankets and pillow, returning them to the sofa and settling in with the remote for what looked like it would be a long and lonely night.

****************************

The good mood that Cuddy had found so suspicious was nowhere in sight the following morning. By the time House got up and got ready for work, Wilson was already long gone.

House knew he'd overreacted the night before.

Wilson had been trying to work things out with him, trying to help him deal with their issues; but House had snapped at him and stormed off like a petulant child, unwilling as ever to actually _talk_ about anything _real_ between them. He had simply felt embarrassed and trapped, his vulnerabilities the focus of Wilson's expert scrutiny, and had simply wanted to _escape_.

He tried to put the issue out of his mind, vowing silently to bring it up that evening and get things resolved with Wilson.

Until then, he had to go through his day as usual, all but forgetting that his lover existed.

It was more convincing that way.

He was barely through the door, however, when Cuddy caught his attention, beckoning him toward her office. He let out a weary sigh, rolling his eyes in irritation. The last thing he wanted to deal with on a day like today was another third degree from his boss. He just wanted to go on to his office and continue diagnosing his current patient.

Unfortunately, Cuddy wasn't giving him a choice.

He studied her face, alarm building within him at the solemn, quietly accusing look in her eyes as she slowly took her seat behind her desk, and he took the one across from her.

"Let's make the daily lecture quick, because I've got diagnosing to do…"

"I thought you said you weren't seeing Wilson anymore."

House froze, trying to analyze the look on her face, to somehow guess what new piece of overlooked evidence had re-aroused her suspicions. He hesitated, aware that the wrong response – any careless gesture or misplaced word – could serve to prove her theories and destroy Wilson's career.

"I'm not," he answered with quiet certainty, waiting for her to go on before saying anything more.

Cuddy was quiet for a moment, searching his eyes, as a bitter half-smile devoid of any real satisfaction formed on her lips. She reached into her desk drawer and took out several photographs, laying them out on her desk in front of House. House looked down at them, and his heart sank as he saw that they were pictures of the parking space outside of his apartment – with Wilson's car in it – time-stamped with various hours of the previous night.

"If you're not seeing Wilson anymore," Cuddy coolly asked, her sharp gaze never leaving House's face, "then explain to me why his car was parked outside your apartment all night last night?"


	42. Chapter 42

It took some fast talking to convince Cuddy not to call the police on Wilson right then and there.

There was yelling, accusations, threats… before she finally calmed down enough to allow House to try to explain. He asked her to call Wilson and have him come to her office so they could talk, and she reluctantly complied.

They spent over an hour in her office, explaining to her the details of the situation – how Wilson had enrolled in anger management classes and was doing so much better at controlling his temper – how he hadn't struck House once, had barely even raised his voice, since she had ordered them to separate.

How they loved each other too much to stay separated, no matter _what_ she said.

She was still suspicious, still very ill at ease at the idea of their being together considering what she knew of Wilson's past behavior. But finally, Cuddy was defeated by the fact that these were two grown men, consenting adults, who could do as they chose with or without her permission. She had her pictures and witnesses she could present to the police as she'd threatened; but the bottom line was that they would do her little good if House decided to deny everything.

"I'm going to be keeping my eye on you both," she warned them severely, her voice trembling with restrained frustration. "And if I see even the _slightest_ sign that you're relapsing, Wilson… I'll fire you in a heartbeat. And while the evidence I have might not be enough to prove a criminal case against you, it's _definitely_ adequate cause for termination."

"I understand," Wilson had humbly accepted her warning. "I understand you're wary about this, and you're right to be. But I promise you… _both_ of you…" He glanced toward House with earnest eyes. "… I am _going_ to earn back your trust. I'm a different person now. You're going to see that, in time."

They left her office with things resolved on a surface level, though both men knew that in Cuddy's eyes, this was far from over.

********************************

House knew that Wilson wanted in on his poker game, although he didn't really want to let him in on it. He loved Wilson, but it was nice to have a little something here and there in his life that was his and his alone. However, the tension between them had been building lately, mostly due to House's own issues with their past problems.

As a peace offering, he let Wilson in on the game anyway.

At the moment, however, his mind was far from it.

He sighed as his cell phone began to vibrate, and he glanced down at the screen to see Chase's number there. He would have just ignored it if he hadn't sent Chase on a particularly important mission a couple of hours earlier. He opened the phone and put it to his ear, smirking across the table at Wilson as he spoke.

"This call had better be worth my time."

He listened as Chase freaked out on the other end of the line, sputtering nervously about how Grace had a boyfriend they hadn't known about, and how he was going to be caught and arrested at any moment. Generally speaking, House actually thought that would be pretty funny if it happened; but something else about the situation was bothering him.

_In all the weeks she's been coming to see Wilson, and never once has she shown up with a man. You'd think something like cancer would bring a guy around, if he cares about her at all… so why didn't I know about the boyfriend before now?_

Something in Wilson's gaze – something anxious and guarded and trying too hard to look unworried by the conversation House was having with Chase – caught House's attention, and an unsettled sensation settled in the pit of his stomach.

_Unless… the boyfriend is already around…_

_How did the kid find out about my poker game in the first place? Only Wilson knew about it, but the only person the kid's been talking to… is… Grace…_

_Oh, no. _No_. _

Chase was still babbling on the phone about Grace's mysterious boyfriend, and how he could come home at any moment and call the police to take him away to jail. House's eyes remained locked onto Wilson as he spoke curtly into the phone before hanging up.

"He's not coming home. Relax."

He closed his phone and placed it in his pocket, taking up his cards again, though his gaze never faltered from studying Wilson's face as he spoke again in a dangerously calm, even voice.

"There's nothing in this universe that can't be explained. Eventually. Take this game. Only two people knew that you wanted in on it. I didn't tell him."

Wilson's voice trembled with taut agitation as he shrugged and insisted defensively, "I told you, I didn't tell him."

"Why would you?" House agreed, his voice sharp and tinged with bitter sarcasm. "About the only person he's getting intimate and all conversational with is your cancer chick. How would she know? The subject of my poker game isn't likely to come up in the course of a patient interview. No, that's the kind of thing that you mention to someone that you're used to sharing the details of your day with." A cold smile on his lips, House added, "If it was someone else's poker game, you'd have mentioned it to me."

"House… don't do this," Wilson warned him with a weary sigh. "You're making something out of nothing…"

"A rabbi? Guidance counselor? Parent?" House continued as if Wilson hadn't spoken. "She's not your mom, is she?"

"House, seriously," Wilson insisted tersely. "Don't start this. First of all, this is a conversation to be had in private. And second… we shouldn't have to have this conversation at all…"

House continued to ignore Wilson's protests, his tone hardening with the weight of his soft, certain accusation.

"You've been cheating on me… with our miracle woman."

Wilson's face flushed with self-conscious embarrassment as he looked anxiously around at the strangers at the table, who were now watching the exchange with unmasked curiosity.

"House… let's talk about this _later_…"

"There's nothing to talk about. Once I've finished winning your money, you can pack what few things you have here and get out. It'll make Cuddy happy. Get her off my back. She's not convinced the anger management classes will take, anyway…"

"_House_…"

"You know, the ones you have to take because of that pesky domestic violence incident or twelve? The ones…"

"Excuse us for just a moment…"

House's scathing words were cut off abruptly as Wilson rose from his seat, grabbing House by the arm and jerking him toward the door. House gave his guests a meaningful look, gesturing back and forth between himself and Wilson with his free hand.

"See this? I'm not back in ten minutes, you…"

The slamming door of his apartment cut off his only half-joking comment. Wilson released him once they reached the sidewalk, glaring at him murderously, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"House, what the _hell_ is your _problem_?"

"You sleeping around with some patient of yours, while all the time you're trying to tell me how much you _love_ me," House spat back at him furiously, "how you're gonna prove it to me and _earn back my trust_!"

"House, you're crazy," Wilson snapped, impatient derision creeping into his voice along with the anger that was already there. "I'm not sleeping with anyone but you, okay?"

"Don't lie to me, Wilson," House shot back, his voice cold with disgust. "You're not that good at it."

Wilson opened his mouth to protest further, but at that moment, House's pager began to go off. House stared at Wilson for a long, tense moment before grudgingly taking the pager from his pocket and glancing down at it. He couldn't decide whether it was fortunate or unfortunate that he had no choice but to go to the hospital, leaving the conversation abruptly incomplete.

*********************************

Several very eventful hours later, House returned to his apartment, too exhausted and numb to want to think about the unfinished confrontation with Wilson, and the fact that like it or not, he _had_ to finish it.

Wilson was waiting for him on the sofa.

House noticed immediately that the table where the poker game had taken place was clean and neat, all the dishes washed and the clutter cleared away. He felt a confusing rush of familiar affection at the knowledge that this was Wilson's coping mechanism, likely inherited from his mother – followed by an irritated surge of self-directed anger that he should be feeling any sympathy at all for the man who had been lying to him and cheating on him for… who knew _how_ long?

And Wilson _had_ been cheating. Of that House was sure.

Mostly.

_I'd _better _be right, after that phone call I just made to Grace…_

"I just got a call from Grace," Wilson stated without preamble, his voice carefully calm as he met House's gaze.

House let out a rude, suggestive sneering sound, rolling his eyes as he stalked past Wilson into the kitchen and took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. "I _bet_ you did. I bet you do all the time…"

"House, cut the crap," Wilson snapped, rising to his feet, eyes narrowed in anger. "She called me to tell me about a very upsetting phone call she got about half an hour ago…"

House braced himself, already fully aware of what Wilson was going to tell him.

"She said some man she didn't know called her up and demanded to know if she'd been sleeping with his boyfriend. When she was, naturally, confused by this, he clarified by using my name." Wilson's voice was taut and falsely bright, betraying his own embarrassment at the situation. "She said this very, _very strange_ man then proceeded to tell her… how was it again? Oh, yes… " He recounted what Grace had said in slow, measured words, drawing them out to emphasize the gross inappropriateness of each one. "'I don't care if you're _dying tomorrow_… tonight, you keep your hands to yourself!'"

House knew it had been a terribly cruel thing to say to a woman who might very well be dying in the very near future. Still, he couldn't resist a smirk for Wilson's benefit as he looked up to meet his eyes over the open refrigerator door.

"Wow. That must have been a good one. She remembered it word for word…!"

Wilson stalked angrily toward the place where House stood, his jaw working with outraged frustration. "She's scared, and she's _dying_, House, and you just made it worse!"

"I made her more dying than she already was?" House drawled skeptically, a vindictive amusement in his eyes as he watched for Wilson's reaction. "Wow, I really _am_ better than I thought…"

Wilson slammed the refrigerator door closed, taking a couple of swift steps forward into House's space as House automatically backed up against the kitchen counter. He flinched slightly at the sudden advance, all traces of amusement vanishing into wide-eyed alarm as he glanced down at Wilson's furiously clenched fists braced against the counter on either side of him.

"You hurt her and terrified her for _nothing_, House!" Wilson snarled accusingly. "For the last time, _nothing happened_ between me and Grace! I am in the middle of a _very_ precarious situation in my career right now, where my employer really, _really _would like to see me lose my job, and Grace is my _patient_! God, House, do you really think I'd be that _stupid_?"

House swallowed hard, eyes downcast, his breath quickening with alarm at the intensity of Wilson's reaction. He shook his head slowly, unable to bring himself to speak, unable to trust his own voice.

Wilson seemed to notice his reaction, because he took a deep breath and edged backward a step, taking a moment to steady his voice before going on, more softly but no less accusing.

"She was crying, House. She was scared and humiliated and confused. She had _no idea_ what you were even talking about." He paused for emphasis, his voice lowered and intense as he concluded, "Because _nothing happened_."

He was quiet, looking away for a moment, slowly shaking his head as if at a loss. Finally, he spoke again, looking up to meet House's wary eyes, apparently oblivious to his fears for the moment, too focused on the matter at hand to notice.

"You can believe me or not. That's your choice. But I've been up half the night. I'm going to bed. You can join me if you like – or not. But I'm not going to keep trying to explain and defend myself to you. I've told you what happened… what _didn't _happen… and that's all I can do."

Without another word he turned on his heel and headed toward the bedroom, leaving House standing by the refrigerator – shaken, confused, and wondering if, despite his instincts and the conclusions to which they had led him, it was possible that he'd been completely wrong about this one, and if this whole thing was really _his _fault.


	43. Chapter 43

Wilson anxiously watched the door to Cuddy's office from across the waiting room, while trying not to look as if he was watching it. The door was closed, the blinds were drawn – and House had been in there for nearly an hour.

_What could she possibly have to talk to him about for_ that long? he wondered with agitation. _He hasn't even done anything so bad lately… at least nothing_ I've _heard about. It has to be an excuse… just a ploy for her to get him to herself for a little while…_

He busied himself with a patient chart at the main desk, but his attention was locked onto Cuddy's door as it finally opened, and House emerged, laughing and shaking his head. Cuddy was apparently not pleased with that reaction, because she followed him to the door, catching his arm and hissing something quiet and angry before spinning on her heel and stalking away.

In the old days, Wilson would have thought nothing of going into her office and offering a listening ear; and in the old days, Cuddy would have gratefully taken advantage of it, giving him the information he wanted and herself some peace of mind in the process.

These days, Cuddy could hardly speak to him civilly.

Despite that fact, Wilson's curiosity got the better of him and he found himself making his way toward her office. He knocked twice before opening the door and stepping inside, giving Cuddy what he hoped was a disarming, sympathetic smile.

"It's nine o'clock. Surely he couldn't have done something _that_ bad _already_?"

Cuddy looked up with raised brows, giving Wilson a dubious, warning glance – then sighed, lowering her gaze and allowing the stern expression to fall.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea."

Wilson gave an easy laugh, rolling his eyes as he sank into the chair across from her desk. "Oh, I _really_ think I do."

Cuddy regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, her internal struggle visible in her eyes. She was clearly still reluctant to trust Wilson, but he _had_ been making a lot of positive steps lately, and she would have had to have been blind not to have noticed that. It was simply too easy to fall into the old, familiar pattern of behavior where it was safe and comfortable to talk to Wilson about the things that worried her… which were usually related to House in some way or another.

"You knew about this, then? His bringing a _gun_ on hospital property, then using that gun to shoot a patient in the head for an _experiment_?"

Wilson's eyes widened in shock and he stared at her in silence, unable to formulate a response for a long moment. When at last he _could_ speak, Wilson's words came out in a sputtering, stammering rush.

"He… he _shot_… he didn't _actually shoot_…"

"Well, in his defense, the patient was already dead at the time," Cuddy admitted with a half-hearted shrug before adding in a clipped, tense voice, "But still. Gun. In the hospital. Bullet. In the head of a dead patient."

She looked up at Wilson again, biting her lower lip, her brow creased in a suddenly troubled frown. "And I… probably shouldn't have told you that. I already dealt with it and all, and there's no reason to get you involved, and…"

"Please," Wilson scoffed lightly with a dismissive wave of his hand. "House is always doing crazy things. Maybe this very fact should scare me, but what you've just told me does _not _in any way surprise me." He paused, his smile fading slightly as he studied her expression. "And… if it still surprises _you_, then… you're not the expert in dealing with him that I thought you were."

Cuddy couldn't help but return his smile at those words, letting out a soft sigh. "It doesn't. Not really. You're right. It's just… House, being House."

Wilson left Cuddy's office having helped to reassure her, but leaving himself more troubled than when he'd gone in.

House had apologized to him for his accusations of cheating, and Wilson had graciously and lovingly accepted that apology, relieved and grateful that House seemed to have believed his story. He had immediately told Grace that they had to end their affair, unwilling to cause any further suspicions in the mind of his lover for a relationship that could only end one way, anyway. It was pointless, and not worth risking what he and House had together.

Since that time, House had been remarkably affectionate and open with Wilson, almost as if he was trying to make up for the hurt caused by his accusations. Things seemed to be better than ever between them, and Wilson was sure that the worst of their times were behind them.

But this, this thing with the gun… deeply concerned him.

_What was he doing with a_ gun? _Where did he get it? I didn't even know he_ had _a gun!_

*****************************

It was nearly an hour later when House returned to his office after dealing with several new crises involving his latest patient, to find Wilson seated behind his desk, turning idly back and forth in the chair while he waited for House to return.

His lips twisted into a smirk that barely managed to mask his pleasure at seeing his lover here in his office, the need for secrecy no longer hindering their workday encounters. There was playful mockery in his voice when he addressed Wilson.

"Think you must have gotten a little turned around out in the hallway. Maybe it's all that medicinal weed. _Your_ office is…"

House's voice trailed off as he drew nearer to his desk and saw that the bottom left drawer was open. He froze as Wilson slowly rose to his feet, bringing his hands into view – and House saw the pistol held loosely in Wilson's hand. His mouth went dry with a sudden rush of fear at the sight, as well as the cold, restrained anger in Wilson's eyes. It had been weeks since Wilson had struck out at him in violence; but the fear that he might do so, if pushed too far, was still ever-present in the back of House's mind.

The question was… had he been pushed too far this time?

"What were you thinking, House?" Wilson demanded softly, glancing down at the weapon in his hand before looking up to meet House's eyes, shaking his head in sad disapproval. "What ever possessed you to think it was a good idea to have this thing on hospital property? Or to have it at all, for that matter?"

"It's no big deal," House insisted, his voice low to disguise the tremor it'd developed. "I used it for a medical experiment. I needed to know how the MRI machine would react to a bullet placed in just that particular…"

"I'm not really interested in that part." Wilson cut him off, his voice quiet but carrying a subtle note of authority and command that made House fall silent. "I'm sure that whatever scheme you used it for, you had a very valid, if slightly insane, medical reason for it. The one thing I'd never doubt you on is your medical judgment." He was quiet for a moment, allowing that to sink in, before he added, "What worries me is the second question: why do you have this at all?"

"I have a constitutional right…"

"_House._"

"I'm a cripple. A target. I have to have some form of self-defense, don't I?" House insisted, his tone defensive, aware that Wilson was not likely to buy his excuses.

"In the _hospital_?" Wilson was incredulous. "You couldn't be safer than you are right here! And when we go home, I usually go with you. No one's going to attack two men walking to their car together, even if one of them _does_ use a cane. In fact, in your case, the cane might be even more of a discouragement."

"Well, we weren't together recently, were we?" House pointed out, latching onto the idea Wilson had just provided him. "And I can't count on you to be there every second of every day. Is there anything wrong with owning something that makes me feel a little safer when…?"

"So… you got it while we were separated?" Wilson asked, cutting House off again. His eyes were narrowed slightly, searching House's face for any signs of deception.

House was almost sure he would find none.

_Almost_.

"Yes. I needed it…"

Wilson's eyes widened suddenly, and House saw the dark, painful question in his expression even before it left his lips.

"House… you didn't… you…" Wilson stammered, struggling for a few moments before taking a deep breath and blurting out, "Did you get that thing for self-defense… against _me_?"

"Please," House scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Like I couldn't have stopped you without it, if I'd wanted to! I didn't need a freakin' _gun_ to protect myself against _you_!" Even as he spoke, however, House was aware that the tremor in his voice made his words less than convincing.

He was even more acutely aware of the gun that was still in Wilson's hand as he rounded the desk and moved closer to House, eyes wide and head shaking slowly with a hurt, bewildered expression on his face.

"You really thought you needed to go that far?" he asked, as if House had not given his answer at all. "You really thought you were… in danger of your _life_? That you needed to buy a _gun,_ just in case I decided to come back around and… and hurt you again?" Wilson paused, his voice barely over a whisper as he added, "You were that much afraid of me?"

"I wasn't," House insisted softly, his eyes darting back and forth between the glass walls of his office, unfortunately obscured by his drawn blinds, and the weapon clasped tightly in Wilson's trembling hand. "I didn't get it because of you. I… I knew you'd never hurt me that bad, Wilson. I didn't think I needed the gun because of you… I swear. I was never that afraid of you…"

It was a lie.

During their brief separation, despite how desperately he had missed Wilson, House had had quite a bit of time to think about their relationship, and to be horrified by how bad he had allowed things to become. He remembered Wilson choking him until he nearly passed out, beating him until he couldn't stand on his own – and he was indeed in fear for his very life.

Kind of like he was right now.

"Wilson," he persisted in a soft, cautious voice, his eyes locked onto the gun, his mouth dry as he swallowed hard in a vain attempt to moisten it. "I didn't get it because of you. I wasn't that scared of you. But… but I kind of am now. If you want to talk about this, fine. Could you… put the gun down first, please?"

Wilson didn't even seem to hear him as he closed the remaining distance between them, and House jerked instinctively backward, flinching slightly as Wilson raised his hands to brace against the wall, the pistol still clenched in one of them, dangerously close to House's head.

"I can't believe you'd think that I was actually that dangerous!" Wilson continued, voice trembling with hurt and anger. "House… what? You thought you'd actually have to _shoot_ me to stop me?"

"No," House insisted in a voice barely over a whisper, closing his eyes to shut out the sight of the unheeded weapon now inches from his face. "No, that's not what I… I mean… Wilson, would you please calm down and just _put the damn gun down_?"

Finally, his trembling, desperate words seemed to break through Wilson's hurt and shock. Wilson blinked as if surprised by the request, taking a backward step and lowering his hands, looking idly down at the weapon he held. His eyes widened in realization as he understood the effect his carelessness had had on House, and he looked up to meet his eyes again, shaking his head.

"House… no, I wasn't going to… you know I wouldn't…"

"I know," House reassured him, nodding as he began to relax a little, though he was still painfully aware of the fact that the gun was still in Wilson's hand. "I know, you were just… upset. Not thinking. Can you put it down, now?" He held out a cautious hand, palm up, for Wilson to place the weapon in it.

Wilson hesitated, frowning down at the gun.

"Just give it to me." There was a note of impatience in House's voice. "I'll get rid of it, okay? I don't need it. But just let me have it. You're freaking me out."

"No." Wilson shook his head slowly, his eyes on the gun for a long moment before he tucked it into his pocket, heading toward the door, leaving House staring after him in bewildered alarm. "No, don't worry about it. I'll get rid of it myself."


	44. Chapter 44

During the rest of the time it took to find Foreman's diagnosis, House had little time to think about the disturbing confrontation that had taken place between him and Wilson. House and his team were kept busy trying to figure it out in time to save their colleague's life, and House's worries fell to the side as he lost himself in the focused place he usually went to when diagnosing.

Unfortunately, the distraction could only last so long.

When it was all over and Foreman was accompanied by his father in a private room, recovering – with only very minor brain damage – House finally had no choice but to make his way home. Wilson had gone home hours earlier, and though House was not looking forward to facing him and dealing with what had happened between them, he still knew he had to go there.

He was too exhausted to even think of going anywhere else.

He didn't bother turning on the living room light, hoping that maybe Wilson had already gone to sleep and not wanting to wake him if he had. He thought that maybe, if he was lucky, he could just fall asleep on the couch and avoid facing Wilson, and whatever way he'd decided to handle what had happened earlier in House's office.

No such luck.

He had barely closed the front door when the bedroom door opened and Wilson looked out. There was clear relief in his voice as he made his way across the room to greet his lover at the door.

"House! How's Foreman? Is everything okay?"

"He's just fine. He's actually feeling pretty _special_ at the moment, so…"

"House…" Wilson quietly cut off his explanation, making it clear that he really wasn't all that concerned with Foreman's well-being. His eyes were wide and solemn as he held House's gaze, closing the remaining distance between them to gently place his hands on House's arms. "I am _so… so sorry_…"

House tried to shrug off both the apology and Wilson's touch, averting his gaze as he replied, "Forget it."

"No, I… I freaked you out, and I'm sorry. I should have been more careful, shouldn't have been waving that thing around like it was some kind of a toy," Wilson persisted. "I'm sorry, House; I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine. I'm over it, okay?"

House snapped at Wilson, trying again to pull away from his needy, seeking hands. He was lying, and they both knew it. He was still very much unsettled by what Wilson had done, and didn't particularly feel like letting him touch him right then. All he wanted to do was to go to sleep and try to forget that most of this day had never happened.

Wilson, apparently, had other ideas.

"No, you're not," he murmured, his voice soft and intimate and cajoling as he edged in closer to House, blocking his path to the bedroom. "Come on. You don't have to pretend with me. I know you're still upset, and you have a right to be. What I did was… ridiculously thoughtless, and I should have been more careful. I am _so sorry_, House, and I just need you to know that."

"I know it, okay?" House's voice was trembling, a slight hitch in his words as Wilson pressed him back against the wall, his strong hands pinning House's arms at his sides. "Wilson, I _know_. Would you just…?"

"Shhh," Wilson gently cut him off, pressing a tender kiss to the side of House's throat as he turned his head away. "Just relax. Let me make it up to you."

House opened his mouth to object, but Wilson's grip on his arms eased as the younger man slid slowly, gracefully to his knees, never breaking eye contact. House's own eyes widened with surprise as Wilson gently stroked him through his jeans once before reaching with both hands to unfasten them and take him out.

"Wilson… that's not what I… I mean… I don't want you to…"

House's words were swallowed up in a choked groan as Wilson's talented mouth set to work on his already half-hard cock. His knees went weak, and his hands clenched into fists as he braced himself against the wall, struggling just to stay on his feet.

Okay, so maybe this _was_ what he wanted – but only in the sense that it was never something he _didn't _want.

House struggled to focus on what he had been trying to say, fought to even form a coherent thought amidst what Wilson was doing to him. He knew he should be telling Wilson to stop, should be pushing him away until he had somehow made sense of just what exactly he thought and felt right now – but he just couldn't bring himself to reject Wilson's very skilled, talented attentions.

It didn't take long for Wilson to bring him to completion, and House nearly collapsed under the weight of the extreme surge of pleasure that washed through him. Wilson's hands on his thighs, supporting him and pressing him back against the wall as he swallowed House's release, were all that kept House on his feet.

Immediately, Wilson rose to his feet as well, gentle hands pressed against House's chest as he leaned in to claim his mouth with a kiss. There was a bitter taste on Wilson's tongue, and House was about one part repulsed to two parts titillated by the knowledge that it was himself he was tasting. Wilson drew back, his breath coming rapid and deep as he searched House's eyes, his own darkened with lust.

"So," he ventured in a slightly hoarse voice, brushing the back of one hand across House's cheek. "Do you forgive me?"

House lowered his head, letting out a heavy, resigned sigh – a subtle gesture of defeat. His voice was low, weakly warning, as he reminded Wilson, "You scared the _crap_ out of me, you know that?"

"I know," Wilson softly replied, punctuating the words with another light, gentle kiss. "Do you forgive me?"

House nodded slowly, rolling his eyes. "It's not like you did it on… purpose…"

His words trailed off, his head falling back as Wilson's kisses made their way from his mouth down to his neck, amidst little licks and bites just this side of painful. House let out a gasp as Wilson's teeth closed lightly over his throat for a moment. When Wilson looked up again, his voice was low and husky, his eyes so dilated that they were nearly black.

"C'mere," he whispered, tugging House toward the bedroom door by the collar of his shirt.

House allowed himself to be pulled along to the bedroom, where Wilson none-too-gently pushed him down onto the bed, rough hands scrabbling at buttons to get House's clothing off. House was torn, feeling too exhausted and confused to really want to do anything more with Wilson tonight. However, after what Wilson had just done, it was only fair that he should have _his_ needs met as well.

House raised trembling, hesitant hands to unfasten Wilson's clothes as well, but Wilson caught his wrists and forcefully placed them against the mattress above House's head. House instinctively tried to resist and lower them, but Wilson pushed down harder, looking into his eyes with a reassuring smile.

"Shhh… don't," he murmured. "Don't move them… just…"

House obliged him, staying still, though the powerlessness of his position made him feel extremely uncomfortable. He worried about what part of Wilson's personality made him need so badly to control his lover – to tie him up or pin him down and _take_ of him what House would have freely given without reservation – and whether or not it might be the same part of his personality that made him strike out in anger and violence when his control was challenged.

"Wilson… wait a minute…"

House cautiously protested as Wilson's mouth and hands began moving over his body. He tentatively lowered his hands to Wilson's shoulders, trying to get him to slow down. Wilson abruptly grabbed his wrists again and slammed them down on either side of his head, his voice low and warning as he growled in House's ear.

"I said _don't… move_."

House went still then, submitting to Wilson's desires. Wilson deserved this, he told himself. Wilson had done what he could to make up for the incident with the gun, and House should give a little, too, for the sake of their relationship. True, _Wilson_ was the one who was supposed to be proving himself to _House_ right now – but it wouldn't hurt him to give this time. He would set his misgivings aside and surrender to what Wilson wanted from him – just this once.

******************************

"What did you do with the gun?"

House's quiet question broke the satisfied stillness that filled the bedroom in the wake of their rather intense, almost violent coupling. Wilson was lying next to him on the bed, his chest against House's back, until House slowly, deliberately turned to face him before speaking.

Wilson glanced away for just a moment – a tell that House couldn't possibly miss – before meeting his eyes and answering in a calm, measured tone. "I told you I'd get rid of it, and I did."

"How?" House persisted. "Where'd you get rid of it?"

"You don't need to worry about it, House. I got rid of it," Wilson countered, a terse note of irritation creeping into his voice. "House… are you even _trying_ to trust me?"

"Well, if you wouldn't try so hard to make it difficult…"

"I pawned it, okay?" Wilson snapped, turning and sitting up abruptly.

House couldn't help it; he flinched at the sudden movement, feeling himself go tense again at the anger in Wilson's voice and actions. "Okay," he answered in a quiet, subdued tone, not wanting to push the issue to the point where Wilson might lose control.

"It's not like we need the money, and I wanted it out of here. We don't need a gun around. It's not safe." Wilson's tone was sullen and resentful as he rose from the bed, angrily picking up his clothes from where he had discarded them. He paused, glaring at House as he spoke coldly before disappearing into the bathroom. "Especially if you don't trust me."

_I _do _trust you…_

The words echoed through House's mind – the words he wanted to be able to say – but the problem was, they weren't true. He couldn't bring himself to say it because, despite Wilson's efforts to change and his own to accept those changes, House _didn't_ trust Wilson – not yet. The memory of angry fists and grasping, choking hands was still too close to the surface of his mind.

When Wilson returned to the bed a few minutes later, cleaned up and ready for bed, he laid down in stony silence, pointedly turning his back on the other man. House was quiet for a moment, troubled by the distance between them, torn between his pride and conviction that he was right, and the need to fix what was wrong between him and Wilson.

Finally, his need for Wilson won out.

He reached out a tentative hand to rest on Wilson's arm, clearing his throat self-consciously before muttering two words almost under his breath.

"I'm sorry."

Wilson either didn't hear him or didn't choose to forgive him for his slight. Silence was the only response that met House's quietly pleading words.

*******************************

The next morning, House got up relatively early, for him, and was already in the shower when Wilson woke up. He blinked sleepily into the morning light filtering through the blinds before slowly sitting up. His mood swiftly darkened as the events of the night before came back to his mind.

Glancing over his shoulder toward the bathroom door, reassured by the continuing sound of running water and the scent of steam and soap, Wilson went to the closet and quickly dressed, then reached up to take his lockbox from the top shelf. He told House he kept personal papers and records there for safe keeping, just in case there was ever a fire or something – and he did.

But those were not the only things he kept there.

He opened it and took from it his latest acquisition, turning it over in his hands, staring down at it, and wondering why he'd even decided to keep it in the first place.

What in the world was he going to do with a _gun_?

Somehow, he just hadn't been able to bring himself to get rid of it.

Looking at it, however, filled him with a swelling sense of rage and resentment. It troubled and angered him to think that House had thought he needed it in the first place.

_What, he was gonna shoot me if I showed up at his door? Blow my head off because I lost my temper a time or two? No. I don't think so, House._

The more he thought about it, the angrier Wilson felt – and he didn't have time to deal with those angry thoughts now, not when he had to get ready for work. He had a long day ahead of him, and needed to focus. Wilson locked the gun away again in the box and returned it to the top shelf, returning the key safely to his own pocket.

_No, a dangerous weapon like this is much safer in_ my _possession – so next time we have a fight, at least I'll know for sure no one will get hurt…_


	45. Chapter 45

"_Why_? That's what I want to know."

Wilson let out a weary sigh, rolling his eyes as he and House reached the door to his office.

"I already told you, I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine, House. She just asked me yesterday, and she didn't say what it's about. If I had any idea, you know I'd tell you."

The problem was, House _didn't _know.

Wilson had become so secretive these days. He became defensive and angry when House tried to call him on inconsistencies in his stories, or insufficient explanations; so House did not try to push him for answers. However, his nature was such that there was no way he could allow himself to be satisfied with Wilson's vague, guarded answers.

If Wilson was going out to dinner with Cuddy, there had to be a reason for it.

And House knew that he would not be able to have a moment's peace until he knew what that reason was.

_Maybe he really doesn't know… maybe he's telling the truth…_

Irresistible curiosity – and a little bit of jealousy – drove House to try to figure it out, just like any other mystery. He spent the greater part of the day scheming, back and forth between Cuddy and Wilson, trying to determine the reason for the mysterious dinner planned for that evening.

Wilson insisted that there was no possibility whatsoever that Cuddy might have some romantic intentions for the evening. It had to be something work-related that she wanted to discuss, or at the very most perhaps a personal medical issue; it was certainly not a date.

House had his doubts.

As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Wilson had lied to him more than once since they'd been together; and though he had no definite evidence and tried to give his lover the benefit of the doubt, House was secretly certain that on more than one occasion, Wilson had cheated on him.

_And he's always thought she was attractive. I can tell. If she gave him half the chance, he would in a heartbeat. But… would_ she?

Cuddy didn't seem to like Wilson much these days.

_Probably something to do with the beating me half into a coma…_

But House knew that her resolve against Wilson could only last so long. She had decided to let him keep his position at the hospital, and even not to interfere in the continuing relationship between Wilson and House, provided she didn't see anything else that appeared particularly suspicious.

_But the patented James Wilson charm is a dangerous thing… and whatever misguided affection she has for me can only carry her so far. Is there a chance that she might disregard everything she's told him, everything she's told _me_, and just go ahead and sleep with him, if he plays his cards right? Is that possible?_

Cuddy was an intelligent, capable woman who could usually see through people's tricks and deceptions; but Wilson was – well, _Wilson_ – and exceptionally good at manipulating people into believing whatever he wanted them to believe.

_Damn right, it is._

House kept pushing throughout the day, trying to get Wilson to tell him what the dinner was about. Wilson kept insisting that he didn't know; but by this point, House was no longer sure that he could believe him. His confidence, both in Wilson and his own judgment, had been shattered so many times, in so many ways, that he couldn't bring himself to accept Wilson's words at face value.

He hoped Wilson was telling him the truth – but he knew better than to blindly trust that it was so.

*********************************

Despite House's obvious doubts, Wilson really _didn't_ have any idea what Cuddy wanted to talk to him about.

He was anxious and suspicious and had half a mind to tell Cuddy he wouldn't be able to meet with her after all. Unfortunately, he knew himself well enough to know that if he didn't find out what she wanted, the unanswered question would haunt him until he found out – and there might not _be _another chance to find out.

That, and if he refused to meet with her, Cuddy could very well take her photographic evidence of his abuse of House to the police.

Cuddy was already waiting at quiet corner table when Wilson reached the restaurant. She caught his eye and nodded in greeting from across the room, but she did not smile. Wilson's stomach sank at the confirmation that this was not simply a casual meal between colleagues.

Cuddy clearly had an agenda – and Wilson was certain it was not one he would like.

Cuddy barely spoke to him as he took his seat. He tried to make small talk with her, but she was cool and distant, barely acknowledging his nervous rambling. Awkward silence reigned until they'd both ordered their drinks and meals. Wilson tried not to fidget under her coolly studious gaze as she eyed him over the top of her glass. Finally she set it down, glancing down at the table before meeting his eyes again.

"I'm worried," she stated flatly. She paused before clarifying unnecessarily, "About you and House."

Wilson had expected that this had something to do with House. He was only surprised that Cuddy had approached him about it so directly. He swallowed down his rising irritation with a sip of his wine, composing himself with an effort before responding to her words.

"There's nothing to worry about. We're fine. I realize I… _have_ given you reason to be concerned in the past. But I'm doing much better now. I've completed my anger management classes, and I've learned a lot from them. House and I – we've been getting along better than ever. I haven't touched him – not in violence – since we spoke about this before."

"That's good," Cuddy conceded cautiously with a grudging half-nod. "Still… I see some things in him these days that I find… troubling."

Wilson let out a disbelieving laugh. "And that's a _new_ development? Since when do you not see anything troubling in his _usual_ behavior?"

"I'm not talking about his usual behavior, Wilson," Cuddy snapped, a warning note in her voice that made Wilson rethink his flippant demeanor. "If he was acting just the same as he always has, then I wouldn't be worried. Lately, though – he's not taking nearly so many risks as he used to…"

"I would think you'd consider that a _good_ thing. It means he's thinking before he…"

"It means his confidence levels are down," Cuddy corrected sharply, her eyes still scrutinizing Wilson far too closely for his comfort. "House never used to worry about what anyone thought of him, _ever_. Now… he's self-conscious, nervous about making the wrong decision... almost skittish, Wilson, like he's afraid if someone accidentally gets too close."

Wilson was quiet for a moment, weighing his answer carefully. When he spoke, his eyes were downcast, his tone humble. "I realize I did a lot of damage before I… got help… and I'm sorry for that. If House is a little jumpy now because of it, then, well… yes, that's my fault. But… I'm trying to help him now. I'm trying to regain his trust, and rebuild his confidence, and… and put to rights all the things I tore apart. It's not easy, but… but we're working on it, together, and frankly…" He looked up, meeting her eyes as he stated softly, "… it's no one's business but ours."

Cuddy had been listening closely, a troubled frown furrowing her brow. At Wilson's last words, her eyes narrowed, her lips tightening into a line of controlled anger. "Well, I have to disagree with you there. House is my friend. If I feel like he's still being mistreated, that is most definitely my business."

"He's not, and it's not," Wilson insisted, holding her gaze with quiet defiance. "Our relationship is fine now, and I think you need to stay out of it."

"You can't make me back off on this, Wilson," Cuddy informed him, her voice trembling slightly with her rising indignation. "I'm not going to abandon him, no matter how badly you wish I would. Don't forget that at any moment I choose, I can take those pictures to the authorities – and if I think for a minute that you're still hurting him, I will."

"And say what?" Wilson's voice was calm, quiet, dangerously soft, carrying a startling note of challenge. "You can't prove anything as to where he got the injuries in those pictures. And House will never back you up. If the authorities ask him about it, he'll say he was mugged… or got in a bar fight… or _anything_ besides telling them that _I_ did it to him." He paused, rising to his feet with a tight, unpleasant smile on his lips, his eyes narrowed knowingly as he observed, "And you know that as well as I do. House and I love each other, and we're together, and there's nothing you can do to stop that. Really, the best thing you can do is to just back off and stay the hell out of our business."

Without another word, Wilson turned on his heel and stalked out of the restaurant, not even bothering to look back at the stunned expression he knew would be on Cuddy's face. He knew he was right. House would never turn him in for his past crimes, and unless he did, Cuddy's precious pictures proved nothing.

By the time he got home, his temper had cooled somewhat, as he played the scene over and over again in his mind, relishing his triumph over his opponent – and, he suspected, rival.

_But she can just forget it. House is mine, and I have no intention of_ ever _letting him go…_

As he walked through the front door of their apartment, Wilson frowned when he found it dark and deserted. A cold uncertainty began in his chest, spreading in to replace his good spirits with dark questions and suspicions. House hadn't said anything about having any plans tonight, and he didn't have a patient.

So where was he?

******************************

House wasn't _intentionally_ trying to spite Wilson by staying out until nearly midnight.

He simply expected that Wilson's not-date with Cuddy would probably last a long time. There was no need to worry about anyone waiting for him at home. He could stay at his favorite bar until 11:30, because Wilson would likely be busy until late into the night, fending off Cuddy's advances.

_Or _not _fending them off…_

Okay… so maybe he _was_ trying to spite Wilson a little.

The idea of Wilson coming home from his mysterious meeting to find House _not_ sitting at home waiting for him had a definite vindictive appeal – until the reality of it came to be. Wilson was waiting for him on the sofa, but he was on his feet before the door was closed. His voice was low and dangerous as he took a few slow, measured steps toward his errant lover.

"Where the hell have you been?"

House returned his question with a nasty smirk, perversely pleased by Wilson's obvious jealousy. His tone was harsh and deliberately mocking. "Maybe I had a date tonight, too."

It had been so long since Wilson had struck out at him in violence that, despite his instinctive fears, House had almost come to believe that it was no longer a possibility. He realized his mistake in an instant as Wilson stalked toward him, pushing him hard with both hands so that he lost his balance and fell back against the door.

"Damn it, House!" Wilson snarled, slamming his palm against the door by House's head. "Do _not_ play freakin' _games _with me!" He drew his hand away from the wall only to close it into a fist and slam it down again, inches from House's face. "Now where the hell _were_ you?"

House flinched at the impact, his heart racing, his mouth dry and his brow damp as panic tried to overtake him. He remembered all the past incidents when Wilson had lost his temper and become violent with him, and was terrified that he had crossed the line, pushed Wilson far enough that it was about to happen again. He barely managed to choke out a hoarse, timid response.

"I… I was just at a bar… _alone_… Wilson, calm down…"

"Don't tell me to calm down; you're the one who was out all night without telling me where you were going," Wilson snarled, his voice low and threatening in House's ear, his hands against the door boxing House in and increasing his feelings of claustrophobic panic. "Do _not_ think that you can cheat on me and get away with it, House. I have _always_ been faithful to you, and if we're going to be together, you're going to be faithful, too, do you understand me?"

House nodded, his head turned away slightly, eyes closed, not daring to voice his doubts as to the truth of Wilson's assertion. He was almost certain that Wilson had been unfaithful to him more than once – but now was certainly not the time to bring up that fact.

"Do you even want us to be together, House?" Wilson demanded. "_Do you_?"

House's response was immediate, instinctive, surprising even himself with how deeply he meant it, in spite of everything. He nodded emphatically without opening his eyes, replying in a soft, halting voice, "Y-yes, Wilson. Yes, I do…"

_No matter what you say… what you do to me… God help me, I_ need _you so damn much…_

"Then you'd better get your act together and start treating me with the common courtesy to at least let me know when you're gonna be gone. Do I make myself clear?" Wilson snapped, warning in his tone.

House nodded again. "Yes… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

Wilson abruptly backed off, turning on his heel and storming off toward the bedroom, slamming the door hard behind him. House just stood there for a long moment in helpless confusion, uncertain as to how to react to what had just happened. Above the tumult of questions and fears and uncertainties that filled his mind, a single voice seemed to rise, strangely similar to the voice that had just assaulted him so furiously.

_Well, you've done it again, haven't you? Managed to screw things up once again… Get it together, House… Get it together, or you're going to lose him…_


	46. Chapter 46

House was late coming in to work, as usual.

Wilson had volunteered to work a few hours in the clinic, mostly so that he could be aware of it when House finally came in. A couple of hours into his shift, Wilson saw Cuddy quickly moving toward the entrance, and followed the direction in which she was headed to see House making his way through the front doors. Cuddy no doubt intended to head him off before he could hide himself away somewhere and avoid her.

But House for once did not seem inclined to avoid her at all. Wilson fought down an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as House and Cuddy walked down the hall talking. Cuddy was holding an open patient file in her hands, so their impromptu meeting was probably about a new patient.

Still, Wilson didn't like it.

He was too suspicious of Cuddy's motives.

"Hey, G-Man!"

Wilson was just about to approach them and insert himself into their conversation when a loud voice from across the lobby drew his attention, and his eyes widened with surprise when he realized who the stranger was addressing. As the man approached House with wide spread arms as if to hug him, House turned toward the man with a look of irritation, and Wilson suppressed a smirk, pausing where he was to simply watch the show.

This _should be good…_

The stranger stopped at the last moment, laughing, "You thought I was going to do it, didn't you?"

"Do I know you?" House's tone was scornful and dismissive.

The man laughed again, but this time it had a nervous, insecure sound to it. "Come on, it's me, Crandall!"

House gave him a blank look, shaking his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Crandall's face fell. "Man, I can't believe you didn't…"

"Unless you mean _Dylan_ Crandall, the man who'll believe anything," House interrupted his protest, a grin breaking out on his face. "See, I just made you believe that I…"

"You haven't changed," Crandall laughed, clearly relieved. "Heard about your leg…"

As House and his old friend began to catch up, Cuddy left them, returning to her office, and Wilson frowned, troubled by this development. He hadn't realized that House _had _any "old friends" besides himself. He took in the easy camaraderie the two seemed to have with each other, a cold ache building deep in his chest.

He finished his shift, but was distracted and unfocused the entire time, eager for the day to end so that he and House could go home, and he could find out the details about this mysterious stranger who seemed to be so close to the man who was close to _no one _– except Wilson.

_And that's the way it's supposed to be…_ Wilson thought, troubled and resentful. _I'm supposed to be the only one…_

*******************************

It only took a little bit of convincing on Crandall's part to get House to join him for drinks that evening, while House's team was monitoring Leona's reaction to the treatment House had decided upon.

Crandall was surprised that it took any convincing at all.

They spent several hours in House's favorite bar, drinking and reminiscing about old times. In many ways House seemed unchanged despite his disability, and Crandall found himself having a very good time in his friend's company as always.

But, something was… off.

There was a strange restraint to House's laughter, a sort of subdued uncertainty to his usual smart remarks. Crandall studied his friend, trying to figure out what it was about him that had changed, and what might be the cause of that change.

"There's something different about you," he observed at last. "What is it?"

House shrugged, silent for a moment before a little smirk formed on his lips. "I'm gay now," he offered, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes at the obvious inappropriateness of his choice of words. "Half-gay, anyway. I'm not picky."

Crandall's eyes widened with surprise, and he was quiet for a few moments, taking in the new information and applying it to the mental image of his friend long formed in his mind's eye. Although as long as he'd known House, he'd only seen him express an interest in women – it was somehow not surprising.

"So… was there someone in particular that helped you reach that conclusion?" Crandall asked, nudging his shoulder in a good-naturedly teasing way. "Any lucky guy in your life at the moment?"

"Yeah." Strangely, House's smile faded a little at the question. "You met him. Wilson. The oncologist."

"Oh, yeah, okay…"

Crandall pictured the younger, well-groomed, mild-mannered doctor, then tried to picture him and House as a couple. He couldn't seem to make it fit in his mind. They seemed like a very unlikely couple. The reckless, rebellious, utterly autonomous House, and an obvious control freak like Wilson.

Crandall had only spoken with him for five minutes at most, and it was instantly evident that that was exactly what Wilson was.

That fact was made even clearer a few minutes later, when Crandall saw Wilson enter the bar, scanning the room with a narrowed, piercing gaze before his eyes finally found House and Crandall seated at the far end of the bar. Crandall immediately noticed Wilson's swift, angry stride as he made his way across the bar to where they were. He frowned, troubled by Wilson's demeanor, and opened his mouth to warn House, who hadn't yet noticed his lover's arrival.

"There you are." Wilson had reached them before Crandall could speak. "Would have been nice if you'd told me you'd be here."

House startled at Wilson's voice, jumping slightly as he turned toward him, his lips parted in surprise, at a loss for words. "Wilson… I…"

"No, by all means, don't worry about it." Wilson's smile was taut and angry, not at all pleasant. "Never mind the fact that I was worried sick about whether or not you'd been in an accident or something. Forget it. No big deal."

Crandall was stunned by the timid, uncertain sound of his friend's voice when he finally ventured to speak, his full attention focused on Wilson, as if he had almost forgotten that his friend was there at all. "Wilson… I'm sorry, I didn't think…"

Wilson cut him off with a harsh laugh. "Obviously you didn't." He turned as if to head back toward the door, snapping, "I'll see you at home. Sooner rather than later."

"O-okay." House's voice was small and submissive.

Crandall didn't like the sound of it at all.

Once Wilson had left, he placed a hand on House's shoulder, turning him back toward him with a disbelieving expression on his face. "Demanding, isn't he? _God_… is he always like that?"

"Of course not." House waved a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes, trying for a light tone. "Must have had a few extra cancer kids kick it today or something…"

The flippant mockery in House's voice did nothing to cover the clear note of fear Crandall heard there. He felt a cold knot of apprehension tightening in his chest, and his mouth went dry with an uneasy certainty that he _knew_ what had placed that fear in House's voice. It didn't seem to make sense, didn't seem possible, from what he knew of House – but Crandall couldn't help but suspect.

"I, uh… I'd better get going," House said, drawing Crandall from his troubled thoughts as he rose to his feet and picked up his cane. "It's getting late, and I need to be back at the hospital first thing in the morning."

"House… wait a second," Crandall pleaded, reaching out a hand to touch his arm and halt him momentarily. He waited until House reluctantly met his eyes to ask in a concerned, searching tone, "Are you… are you okay?"

"Besides being mildly drunk and needing to leave my car here and catch a cab home? Just fine," House insisted, pulling his arm away from Crandall's grasp so that he lurched forward, stumbling slightly.

"House…"

"See you in the morning, Crandall," House called over his shoulder, raising a hand in a goodbye without turning to look at him. "Good night."

***********************************

Crandall spent the night in Leona's room, watching over her to make sure she was okay – and worrying about his old friend.

It didn't make sense. From what he knew of House, he wasn't the type to allow himself to be bullied or pushed around, least of all by someone he was in a relationship with. He was too intelligent to miss the signs of a controlling, potentially abusive personality; and far too stubborn and willful to ever knowingly allow himself to fall into such a situation.

It just didn't seem possible.

But Crandall's instincts were telling him that it had to be.

When House showed up the following morning, between worrying about Leona and about House, Crandall had barely slept at all. He looked up with curious concern when House entered Leona's room, looking tired and worn. He was dressed in a long-sleeved button down shirt, with the collar buttoned as well – and Crandall couldn't help but find that suspicious.

He wondered what he would find if he could see beneath the carefully fastened layers of fabric.

"So… you okay?" Crandall asked, well aware that House would find the question irritating, but too worried to keep quiet about it. "Was everything… all right? Last night, when you went home?"

House rolled his eyes. "Would you please let it go?" he sighed in annoyance as he checked Leona's vital signs then picked up her chart to glance over the notations made by the night staff. "Everything is fine. When did you become such a conspiracy theorist?"

"I'm not, I'm just… House, why do you put up with crap like last night from him? The House I knew would have never let anyone talk to him that way…"

House abruptly put the chart down and met his friend's eyes with a sharp, defensive gaze. "None of your business, Crandall," he snapped. He set the chart down on the foot of the bed, continuing, "She's fine. If she's still fine six hours from now, you two should be good to go." He looked up again with a too-bright, false smile. "It was great seeing you again." Without another word, he turned and headed toward the door.

*******************************

House returned home early that afternoon, having solved his case and not yet having a new patient. It was Saturday, and Wilson had the day off. House was tempted to stay away for a while, to go to a bar or somewhere, anywhere to put off going home.

After the night before, however, he didn't dare.

Wilson was sitting on the sofa when he walked in, and glanced up as he picked up the remote and pressed the mute button.

"So… how's the girl?"

"Fine. Cured." House replied without looking at Wilson as he hung up his coat and scarf.

"Great. And… they're on their way home, I assume?" Wilson's tone was casual, but there was an edge to it. It was clear what answer he was hoping to hear.

"Yeah. Should actually be there by now."

House kept his voice carefully neutral, swallowing hard, fighting off the wave of nausea that rose in his throat. His hands were trembling as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, closing his eyes and trying to steady himself before turning to face Wilson. Before he could do so, however, he felt warm, strong arms sliding around his waist, felt the soft heat of Wilson's body pressed behind his own. He tensed, his hands instinctively falling to rest over Wilson's as if to restrain them, his body taut with instinctive fear.

"Shhh, it's okay…" Wilson murmured against his ear, kissing the spot just behind it softly before adding in an earnest, slightly pleading voice, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, House…"

"I-I know…"

House whispered, swallowing hard as Wilson raised a hand to brush against the side of his throat, edging beneath the collar of his shirt in a possessively affectionate gesture. House drew in a sharp breath of alarm, wincing at the light contact against the bruises the shirt had covered. Wilson drew back slightly at House's reaction, gently taking his arms – being careful to avoid the places he had injured the night before – and turning him around.

Wilson let out a heavy, troubled sigh, waiting patiently until House met his eyes to speak again. "I am _so… so_ sorry. You know that. I never meant to… to hurt you again, House. I swear."

"I know," House repeated, nodding in acceptance of Wilson's words, his voice hushed and subdued. "I know… it's okay…"

"No. No, it's not," Wilson insisted, raising a hand to brush the backs of his fingers against House's face, his face falling with sorrow when House flinched at the touch. "It's not okay. I… I screwed up, House. My… my counselor… she says that, in cases of… substance abuse… addiction… any type of… of control-related disorder… relapse is… is a risk." He paused before looking up at House again, hurriedly shaking his head as he clarified, "But that's not an excuse! It doesn't make it okay! I messed up, House, but I swear it won't happen again!"

House nodded, swallowing hard, unable to speak the words of absolution Wilson craved.

Because by this point – he knew better.

It _would_ happen again. It _always_ happened again.

And even knowing that… he couldn't bring himself to walk away.


	47. Chapter 47

Things were better than usual between House and Wilson for the next couple of weeks. After Crandall left town, Wilson's jealousies receded for a time, and he worked very hard in the days following his "relapse" to prove to House that it would not happen again. He was loving and attentive, overlooking the things that usually would have irritated him, and generally being a model boyfriend.

House knew better than to be fooled by it again.

Though it was difficult to admit it, even to himself, House knew by now, deep down, that Wilson had not really changed -- and was not likely to do so in the near future. He also knew, though, that he couldn't be without Wilson. He loved him, needed him too much. No, the only solution was to just do his best to keep Wilson happy, to make sure that he didn't incur the dangerous violence of Wilson's temper, and hope for things to get better.

_If I can just stop doing stupid things... stop making him jealous and angry... then things will be all right. Then he won't have any reason to hit me again. If I can just do better..._

One afternoon about three weeks after Crandall's visit, House found himself without a case -- and therefore free to spend a quiet evening at home alone, while Wilson worked his usual shift at the hospital. The quiet was nice -- for a little while.

Then, House started to get bored.

With little else to do, he made his way to the bedroom closet where he had stashed a stack of old movies he hadn't expected to want to watch again anytime soon. Maybe there was something of interest there that he had overlooked. He leaned his cane against the closet doorway and reached up to the top shelf, feeling around for the smooth, rectangular shape of the DVD cases he sought.

He felt something smooth and rectangular, but not at all the right size, and curiously pulled it down. It was a small box made of shiny, dark wood, equipped with a small padlock that latched it shut.

Immediately, House was impossibly intrigued, and decided that whatever the cost, he had to know the contents of this mysterious container that had somehow ended up in his closet.

_It has to be Wilson's..._

He hesitated momentarily, worrying the edge of his lip as he considered the possible cost of going through something of Wilson's that was obviously private.

If Wilson caught him…

_But Wilson won't be home for hours. There's no way he'll ever know. And this is_ my _house, isn't it? I have the right to know what he's keeping from me._

House had tried to push his suspicions to the back of his mind, and mostly succeeded, but he still had his doubts as to the faithfulness that Wilson claimed. He had caught a few strange looks, brief exchanges, between Wilson and a couple of the nurses at the hospital. There were times when Wilson couldn't clearly account for his whereabouts for hours at a time.

House wanted to think that he could trust his lover -- but by this point, he knew better.

Careful application of the pointed end of a nail file into the lock was all it took to get the box open -- but then, House hesitated before opening it. There were a few tense moments in which he wondered if he really wanted to see whatever it was that was inside.

_Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's personal papers that are just locked in here for safe-keeping._

_Or maybe there's evidence of whatever it is he's been hiding from me. Maybe there's proof that he's cheating._

_Proof that I should leave him._

House froze, his stomach lurching at the thought, his eyes widening in a rare moment of self-realization, as he wondered if that was really what he did not fear, but hope, to find.

_Cheating is the perfect justification to leave. A lot less humiliating for a man than leaving because he won't stop hitting you. Do I_ want _to find out he's not in love with me anymore? That he'd rather be with someone else?_

_Am I_ hoping _to lose him?_

***********************************

"House? Are you home?"

Wilson came in the door from work in a good mood, humming softly as he hung up his coat and scarf and turned to scan the apparently empty apartment. He had enjoyed a relatively good day, having lost no patients, and seen a few significant improvements in some of them. He frowned slightly, still not particularly upset, when he saw no sign of House.

_He might be lying down. I hope he's okay. His leg might be giving him more trouble than usual..._

He made his way across the living room and to the bedroom they shared, knocking softly before cautiously pushing the door open and venturing inside. The overhead light was turned off so that the room was only dimly lit by a couple of small lamps. House was sitting on the side of the bed, his back turned to Wilson. He did not move or respond when Wilson entered.

"Hey. How was your day?"

House still didn't answer, but slowly rose from the bed, half-turning to face Wilson. Wilson's smile faded with his mood when he saw the expression on House's face. He didn't know what had put it there, but it caused his stomach to drop with the undeniable certainty that something was definitely very wrong here.

"What?" he asked in a hushed voice, barely over a whisper. "House, what's the matter?"

"Wilson..."

House's voice was hoarse, quiet and resigned, and as he spoke he raised his hand so that Wilson could see what he held. Wilson felt his chest tighten, as the familiar sensation of being trapped – cold and creeping and sick inside – stole over him. He felt cool beads of perspiration spring up on his face, and a quivering in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't take his eyes from the pistol clutched in House's right hand.

"... what is this?" House shook his head, staring at Wilson with an expression of hurt and betrayal. "Why is it still here? You told me you got rid of it."

Wilson's voice was cautious, controlled, when he finally ventured to speak. "House... why don't you put it down."

House ignored him, turning to fully face Wilson and demanding in a voice that trembled with a rare display of hurt. "No. You lied to me. Why did you lie to me, Wilson?"

"I just... wanted to make sure the gun was in a safe place, House," Wilson explained hurriedly, his gaze drifting between House's face and the gun. "I didn't feel right about just pawning it so someone else could get their hands on it and… and maybe get hurt. You know I don't like guns. I just thought... maybe it'd be safer locked away in our closet... and later on, if you needed it for something..."

"_No_, you're _still_ lying to me!" House exploded, raising his voice in frustration. "You told me the whole reason you took it from me was because you didn't even want it in our house! If that's the reason, then why did you take it from me at all? You could have just insisted that we keep it locked up, but no, you had to _take_ it! What were you _thinking_? Why would you do a thing like that?"

Wilson wasn't really worried. He had seen House angry before, and had no wild misgivings about the fact that House had a gun in his hand at the moment. Even on the rare occasions when he lost his temper, House was always still very much in control. Wilson knew better than to think that, even now in this emotional state, House would actually do anything to hurt him. No, Wilson wasn't worried.

But he was beginning to get royally pissed off.

"House, put the stupid gun down already, will you?" he snapped, taking a few steps toward House and holding out his hand expectantly. "Give it to me!" he demanded.

Wilson saw the instant when House's expression went from furious accusation to fear. House took an awkward, stumbling step backward, suddenly holding the gun out in front of him, taking aim on Wilson.

"No, don't come any closer." His voice was trembling, but his eyes were steady and sure, the warning in them clear.

Wilson felt a hot, boiling rage begin within him at that look of quiet defiance. How dare House think that he could actually point a _gun_ at him, actually _demand_ that he stay away!

"House, you're panicking," he stated softly, his voice not betraying the anger he felt. "You need to put that down before something happens that you don't mean to happen."

"I mean it, stay back..."

"House, I'm not going to touch you; just give me the gun..."

The warning shot caught Wilson off guard, and he flinched as the bullet flew past him and sank into the wall across the room. Thankfully, Wilson realized, the gun was equipped with some kind of silencing device, as it didn't make a loud noise, but rather a quiet popping sound. Wilson turned to stare at the small hole in the wall where the bullet had disappeared, before slowly turning incredulous, furious eyes on House.

"You just _shot_ at me!"

He knew it wasn't technically true. In fact, the wide shot that hadn't actually come near him was only more reassurance that House wouldn't really hurt him. House was a better shot than that, Wilson knew -- just as he was good at everything else that he tried. Still, the accusation got the response Wilson was hoping for. House's hand faltered for a moment, a guilty expression forming in his eyes.

"I... I didn't... I wasn't going to..."

As Wilson edged toward him, House took aim again, stepping backward so that his back was against the wall. Both his hands were on the gun, visibly trembling, his breath quickening with alarm. Wilson's voice remained soft and even, despite his nearly overwhelming fury at this point, as he took another slow step toward House, his hand still outstretched.

"Give it to me, before you hurt someone."

"No, stay _back_," House insisted, frustration evident in his tone. "You think I'm crazy enough to put a gun in your hand after... after everything...?" His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, drawing in a shaky breath. "No... no, Wilson, there is _no way_ that I am _ever _going to..."

"House, give it to me, now!"

Wilson snapped, rushing forward while House was speaking, and therefore slightly off his guard, to close the distance between them. House tried to dodge away from him, but with his back to the wall and his cane against the bed and out of reach, he really couldn't get away. Wilson's hand closed tightly around his, which was clutching the gun, and tried to pry his fingers off of it.

"Let go of me!" House cried out in alarm and outrage, struggling, panicked. "Get off!"

Wilson's response was to draw back his fist and bring it down hard across House's face in an attempt to subdue him and get him to drop the gun. House's head hit the wall behind him, and his knees weakened beneath him so that he fell to the floor. Wilson willingly went down with him, not wanting to relinquish his hold on House's hand, and therefore the gun it held.

House struggled to pull away, but Wilson managed to pin him down with his free hand on his shoulder. House tried to free his gun hand, but Wilson moved with him, determined not to let him win this battle of wills.

"House, I'm not going to hurt you, just give me the freakin' gun!" Wilson shouted in frustration, releasing House's shoulder to hit him in the face with his fist.

House laughed bitterly, his tongue darting out instinctively to taste the blood now flowing from his split lip. "Not gonna hurt me? What do you think you're doing right now?!"

House drew his hand in close to himself, trying to out-maneuver Wilson and get the weapon out of his reach, but only succeeding in positioning the gun dangerously between the two of their bodies. Wilson was clearly furious, seething at House's defiance. He slapped House again, trying to gain enough control to wrest the weapon from his hand.

Later, neither of them was quite sure how it happened, or whose motion caused it; neither of them realized immediately what had happened. Close between their bodies, the silencer-equipped weapon barely made a sound at all. Wilson saw the shock in House's eyes, and his own widened with sudden understanding, as a dull ache formed in the pit of his stomach.

_What have we done?_

House stared up at Wilson in disbelieving horror, as Wilson slowly rose to his feet, shock in his eyes. He was covered in blood -- and he only realized that it was House's and not his own because he was able to stand, while House simply lay there with the gun dropped unheeded at his side, trembling hands resting over his chest, where the blood rushed out between his fingers at an alarming rate.

_Oh, God... oh, God, no... what have we_ done?

*********************************

House couldn't make his mind process what had just happened.

On some level he was aware that he was in desperate danger, dying if help didn't get there fast enough. And Wilson was standing there, as deeply in shock as he was, just staring and doing nothing. He was vaguely aware that _that_ wouldn't do, that they needed to do something, fast; but the greater part of his mind was a blank, stunned to silence by the physical trauma of his injury -- and the emotional trauma of how it had occurred.

The numbness faded into relief as Wilson suddenly went into motion, crouching over House and yanking one side of the bedsheet off the bed. He pressed it into House's hands, then pushing them together over the wound, holding them there firmly for a moment and meeting House's eyes.

"Press down," he ordered urgently. "Hold that, it'll slow the blood loss."

House obeyed automatically, watching as Wilson reached for something beside him. His eyes widened with confusion and fear when he saw that instead of doing something further to help him, Wilson had picked up the gun. He froze, staring at Wilson, watching him in mingled bewilderment and relief as Wilson moved away from him with the weapon, crossing the room to the open box from which it had come, laid on the dresser.

He hurriedly put the weapon away, locking it into the box and putting the box on the floor next to the bed for ready access when he wanted to move it. Once that task was accomplished, he went back to House's side and knelt, reaching out a hand to swiftly check his vitals, while taking his cell phone from his pocket with the other and dialing 9-1-1.

"House, listen to me for a second..." He said, holding his finger over the send button, but not pressing it yet. "Listen, we have to get our stories straight..."

House couldn't focus on the words he was saying -- couldn't believe he was saying them -- couldn't take his eyes from the phone in Wilson's hand. He couldn't make his mind understand why Wilson was waiting to call for help, while every precious second brought him nearer to death.

"Someone broke in. That makes sense." Wilson continued, nodding, his brow furrowed in concentration. "You were here alone, and someone broke in. They had a gun, you resisted... I showed up just as they shot you, then they panicked and ran. We don't _have_ a gun. I'm going to put the gun in my car once I've called for help. Okay?"

Shell-shocked and disbelieving of the surreal situation in which he had found himself, House nodded dumbly, accepting Wilson's plan -- accepting _anything_ that would get him to go ahead and make the call for help. Wilson moved his hand as if to press the button -- then hesitated again, getting up and rushing from the room.

"_Wilson_!" House rasped out, panicked. "Wilson... what...?"

A moment later, he heard the sound of splintering wood, heard something metal fall to the floor. He couldn't see what Wilson was doing, but in a moment, his mind put the pieces together and he understood.

_Can't say it's a break in if there's no sign of forced entry. He must have just broken the door in..._

... before _calling for help..._

_God, Wilson... what is wrong with you? _

_What is wrong with _me?

When Wilson returned, he was already talking into the phone.

"Yes, I just found my partner here in our apartment; he's been shot. I... surprised the intruder, and he ran, and my partner is shot! Please hurry, he's bleeding! Hurry, he needs help..."


	48. Chapter 48

The sound of steadily beeping monitors and hushed voices slowly filtered through the drugged haze of sleep that surrounded House, as he gradually drifted back toward consciousness. He stirred on the hospital bed in which he lay, wincing at the slight stretching pain it caused the wound in his torso.

The quiet swiftly became chaos when the others in the room -- Wilson and Cuddy, House soon realized -- became aware that he was awake. Nurses were in and out for the next several hours, taking his vitals periodically while various tests were run to make sure that he was recovering well from the gunshot he'd taken, which had, fortunately missed all his vital organs. The damage – thankfully, mostly superficial – had been surgically repaired while he was unconscious. Now all that remained to be seen was that there were no further complications.

In House's opinion, the situation was already complicated enough by far.

When the police arrived, House calmly, quietly told them the story that Wilson had fed to him at the apartment, along with the additional details Wilson had come up with during the brief moments they'd had alone since House woke up.

"I was at home by myself, when a man broke the door in and came inside. He seemed panicked to find somebody in the bedroom, like he'd expected no one to be home, and wasn't sure what to do when I was there. Then, Wilson came home, and the guy lost it. He shot me and ran."

The police seemed vaguely confused by his story, but no one bothered to contradict him until he was alone in the hospital room with one of the detectives who lingered behind.

"Something strange about what you've told me," the detective mused, pensive. "If the intruder was surprised by your partner's arrival... why'd he shoot _you_? Wouldn't it be more rational if he'd turned around and shot in the direction of the perceived threat -- Dr. Wilson?"

House kept his expression neutral, shrugging his shoulders as he countered, "Wouldn't it be more rational not to go breaking into people's apartments with guns?"

The detectives left with nothing more than the story Wilson had laid in place for them, corroborated nearly word for word by House's story. As soon as they had gone, Wilson returned to House's side, anxiously questioning him about what the detectives had asked him, and how he was feeling -- but mostly what the detectives had asked him.

House tensed automatically at Wilson's presence, but did his best to remain calm, reassuring Wilson that their secret was safe. Wilson cried and begged for forgiveness, thanking House profusely for forgiving and protecting him -- though as of yet House had promised to do neither. House just passively, silently accepted Wilson's gratitude and regret until finally, Wilson had to leave the room to see to some of his patients.

House immediately called the nurse, and asked her to get Cuddy.

She gave him a concerned look as she walked into his room, then glanced around the room and visibly relaxed a little – obviously relieved to find herself alone with him for the first time since his admission.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, sitting down in the chair beside him and reaching out impulsively to take his hand. "I ordered the ketamine treatment you requested when you were admitted. What was that about, anyway? Are you feeling all right? In any distress? Do you need...?"

"_Cuddy_."

At the sound of his hoarse but urgent voice, she stopped at last, drawing in a shaky breath before replying with a shake of her head and an apologetic grimace.

"... Yes?"

"I... I need to tell you something. You... you were right. About everything."

Cuddy frowned, momentarily confused. "About..." Abruptly her eyes went wide, and she glanced anxiously toward the door before meeting House's eyes again and whispering, "_Wilson_? House... what happened last night..."

House shook his head, holding up a weak hand to halt her outraged questions. "I don't... don't want to talk about it. Someone broke in, like I said. End of story. I just... just need you to know that... you were right. And... I need you to help me."

Over the next two weeks that House spent as a patient at PPTH, Cuddy set about making arrangements for his physical therapy -- as well as the other matters he'd asked her to help him with. There were phone calls to make, preparations to be laid in place – none of which could safely be done in Wilson's presence – and Wilson hardly left House's room.

Safe in public, with Cuddy seated at his side, House finally informed Wilson that he'd decided to go through the six weeks of physical therapy that would be required at a facility six hours away in Philadelphia, where a former colleague of his practiced.

"There are perfectly qualified therapists here," Wilson had argued, clearly troubled by the idea of House's being so far away. "Why do you need to go all the way to Philadelphia?"

But House had insisted, and Wilson hadn't dared protest too much -- not when there were several witnesses constantly in and out of House's room to observe his behavior. And besides, after what House had been through, it would have made Wilson seem like the worst kind of bully had he pushed him too hard to go along with the way of handling things that Wilson thought was best.

Reluctant and grudging, Wilson finally accepted House's decision, despite the fact that it would mean they'd barely be able to see each other throughout House's recovery. House acted sympathetic and understanding, as if that prospect bothered him as much as it bothered Wilson.

In reality, House was surprisingly very much okay with that arrangement.

The day that House was supposed to come home from the rehab facility, Wilson made the drive to Philadelphia to pick him up, arriving at the facility in the early afternoon -- only to find that House had already left in a taxi several hours earlier. Wilson called House's cell phone several times as he returned to his car and got back on the highway, but received no answer on the first few tries.

Every call after the fourth went directly to House's voicemail.

When Wilson arrived at the apartment, at nearly ten o'clock that night, to find House's car in the driveway, he felt a sense of relief at having found him -- only to have that relief swiftly replaced by a sinking feeling of confusion and fear when he found that his key would no longer unlock the door.

He knocked on the door, calling out to his lover. "House?"

There was no response, but the car parked outside the apartment told him that House had to be there. He knocked again, louder, calling out again and again -- but to no result. As his attempts proved in vain, Wilson's fear and confusion were replaced by hurt and seething, then boiling rage.

"House! You'd better open this damn door, now!" he snarled at last, slamming his fist against the newly placed steel door that had replaced the wooden one he'd destroyed.

Frustrated and furious, Wilson finally gave up -- for the moment -- and stalked back to his own car. He didn't know where to go since he was locked out of his own home; so he made his way to his office at PPTH, where he bunked down on his couch, miserable and uncomfortable, for the night.

He woke up the next morning exhausted from the poor night's rest, as well as irritable from the questions and worries that filled his mind.

_Why would House change the locks on me? He was acting like everything was fine. Why would he lie to me like that, just to turn around and do this to me? _

Those questions were underscored by a subtler, darker voice in the back of his mind, whispering ugly promises of things to come.

_I don't care why he did it. He's going to be sorry... thinks he's going to walk out on _me_... he's got another think coming..._

Wilson checked his watch. It was still before eight in the morning, and he highly doubted that House would have arrived at work yet -- if he planned to arrive at all after what he had done. Still, Wilson made his way down the hall to House's office to check. Cameron was sitting inside, going through a few patient files. Neither of House's other team members were there yet. Cameron looked up when she saw him and gave him a little smile and wave; but Wilson did not acknowledge her, just turned with a scowl and headed back toward his own office.

A stranger met him at his door -- a young woman in a smart business suit -- and held out several sheets of stapled paper.

"I need you to sign this, sir. You're being served."

Wilson's eyes widened with alarm as he took the papers from her and looked them over hurriedly. As he slowly realized what they were, his rage began to intensify, swiftly rising toward the boiling point.

_A restraining order... he got a_ restraining order _against me...! How_ dare _he?!_

Wilson signed the sheet she held out to him, then walked calmly into his office and tossed the papers into the bottom drawer of his desk. He paced back and forth for a few minutes, his mind racing, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to decide on a course of action from this point.

He didn't know how he would convince House to take back the restraining order -- or if that was even possible. All he knew was that no matter what it took, no matter what he had to do -- he was not going to lose House.

_He's mine, damn it, and there's no way in hell I'm going to let him get away with walking away from me!_

Wilson abruptly turned on his heel and stalked out of his office, not bothering to lock the door or take any of his things with him besides the keys to his car. He broke the speed limit as he made his way back to the apartment, where he immediately resumed pounding on the door, heedless of the early hour or the fact that he was very likely infuriating their neighbors.

_And they're still_ our _neighbors, because I'm not going anywhere, House. You'd better get that through your head, I am _not _going anywhere!_

***************************

"House! House, you'd better open this door right the hell now! House!"

House huddled on the other side of the door, his back braced against it, his knees drawn up in front of him, his head resting on the shaking metal, eyes closed, as he fought to resist the deeply ingrained impulse to obey. Some traitorous part of him wanted nothing more than to get up and open the door, to let Wilson back into his apartment and back into his life.

But he knew better.

The tone in Wilson's voice was enough to warn him that if he did, he was likely to lose all the physical progress he'd made in therapy in the space of a few minute's time. Wilson was as furious as he'd ever heard him, and House knew that in this particular mood, Wilson could do him a lot of damage.

_Guess he got the restraining order, then. I could call the cops._ Should _call the cops. They'd come and get him, and... and take him to jail... and... God, is that really what I want? That seems so extreme. How can I do that to _Wilson? _Maybe I shouldn't have gotten it in the first place. Maybe I should just open the door..._

House recognized the dangerous turn his thoughts were taking and took his cell phone from his pocket, dialing the number of the only friend he had left at this point.

"Hello?" Cuddy answered, a note of concern in her voice. "House, what's wrong?"

"He's here." House's own voice sounded small and unsettlingly vulnerable to his own ears. "I... I don't know what to... what should I...?"

"House, whatever you do, do _not_ open that door," Cuddy ordered severely. "Do you hear me? _Do not_ open it. I'm going to hang up for a few minutes, and I'm going to call you right back, and don't you _dare_ let him into that apartment, do you understand?"

House nodded, silent for a moment before realizing through his shaken state that she could not hear him and murmuring a small, timid, "Y-yes. Okay."

Cuddy hung up the phone, and House clutched it in his hand, counting the seconds until she called back, just to keep his mind too busy to think of the possibility of giving in and opening the door.

*********************************

When Wilson's phone began to ring, his first thought was that it was House, and he snatched it from his pocket, hitting the receive button and putting it to his ear without looking at it.

"You'd better open this door right now, House, or so help me, I'll..."

"You'll what?" Cuddy's voice was like ice water sliding over his skin, filling his mind with a trapped, sick sense of guilt. "What are you gonna do to him this time, Wilson? The man just got out of physical therapy for a gunshot wound. Is that what you did the last time he pissed you off?"

"This is none of your business," Wilson muttered, preparing to hang up.

"Don't you hang up on me, Wilson, or I'll have the cops there so fast your head will spin, and that restraining order means you'll spend at least a night in jail."

Wilson froze. He was fairly certain she was wrong, and he'd be able to get out more easily than that -- but what then? If he returned to the apartment and was caught there again, he knew the consequences would be a little greater than the first time. He waited in stony silence for her to go on, his jaw working with repressed, impotent fury.

"You're going to leave now," Cuddy stated with frigid calm, a dangerous note in her voice. "House might not call the police on you -- but I will. And I'm going to be there in ten minutes. If you're there when I get there, trust me, you _will_ go to jail tonight. Do I make myself clear?"

Wilson was stubbornly silent for a long moment, struggling against his own pride before finally gritting out through clenched teeth, "_Yes._"

"Good." Cuddy's voice was mockingly bright as she went on. "You'll need to come by my office in the morning, as well. I believe we had an agreement regarding your continued employment at my hospital; and unless I'm mistaken, you're currently in breach of that agreement. I'll see you in the morning, Wilson. Don't let me see you before."

With those curt words, Cuddy disconnected the phone, leaving Wilson staring down at it in outraged disbelief. After a moment, Wilson turned back toward the door, slamming his fist into it in helpless rage, so hard that he feared he might have actually cracked something in his own hand.

He didn't care.

"I'll kill you for this, House," he snarled. "You hear me? I'll _kill_ you!"

And without any other choice at the moment, Wilson turned and stormed away, slamming his car door and leaving the squeal and acrid scent of burning tires in his wake as he drove away.


	49. Chapter 49

By the time Cuddy arrived at House's apartment, Wilson had already gone.

She found herself both relieved and disappointed.

_It would feel really good to give that asshole a piece of my mind!_

But that could wait until the following morning. Right now, House needed her. She knocked on his door, waiting patiently and listening for any response. When at first there was none, she felt an uneasy sense of quiet alarm.

_Surely he wouldn't have gone somewhere with Wilson? Wilson wouldn't have dared – not now – right?_

"House?" she called out, barely managing to control the edge of panic in her voice. "House, it's me. Open the door."

A few more moments of tense silence passed – before at last she heard the lock turning, and the door opened.

House looked terrible.

His eyes were wide and fearful, his expression lost and weary, as he stepped back on trembling legs and allowed her entrance to his apartment. She took the door from his hand, closing it firmly and locking it behind her before turning to face him fully. She met his eyes in a compassionate look that bore no need for words, before taking a step to close the distance between them and gently wrapping her arms around him.

She knew it had to be bad when he neither rejected her affection, nor tried to turn it into an attempt at sexual harassment.

She withdrew after a few moments, looking up into his eyes with concern. "Are you okay?"

House shrugged, his eyes downcast, looking very uncomfortable and self-conscious. "I'm fine." He nodded once – not at all convincingly.

Cuddy studied his expression for a long moment, a troubled frown creasing her brow as she raised a hand to brush it across his cheek. Her tone was gently knowing as she reminded him softly, "You _are_ doing the right thing, House. This is the only way to stop him – because you know by now, he's not going to stop on his own."

House nodded again, blinking rapidly, and Cuddy tactfully looked away, giving him one last quick hug before making her way toward the kitchen. For House to be so near to tears – and so incapable of concealing them – was a deeply disconcerting development indeed. She didn't want to humiliate him by calling attention to those tears, so she decided to busy herself elsewhere.

"Have you eaten?" she asked over her shoulder, not waiting for the answer she already knew. "I'll make us some lunch, okay?"

She stayed with him all day, and through the night that followed, just keeping him company. They watched television, and talked about the various gossip and goings on at the hospital, and basically just passed the time together. Cuddy didn't say it, but they both knew that she was afraid to leave him – afraid that if he was left alone, Wilson might come back.

Or House _might_ just break down and _call_ him back.

The fact that House never once reassured her that that would not happen spoke volumes as to his own fear of that very same thing.

House graciously offered Cuddy the bed that night – not without a lascivious comment or two about "sharing" that she knew he didn't really mean at all – but Cuddy simply retorted that she wouldn't dream of stealing the cripple's bed; what kind of a doctor would she be if she could do a thing like that?

Once again, the underlying reasoning was clear to both of them.

If she slept in House's room and he on the couch, it would be easy for Wilson to slip in or for House to slip out. By sleeping on the couch, Cuddy was effectively making herself a guard to protect House – both from Wilson and from himself.

*****************************

The next morning, Cuddy left House to go to the hospital, bracing herself for the confrontation she knew she had to have with Wilson. She instructed him to stay home and keep his doors locked until she had talked to Wilson and gained some idea of his state of mind, and whether or not he was still angry and out of control enough to break the restraining order and come after House.

When Wilson hadn't come by her office by ten o'clock, Cuddy made her way up to his office to see if he had come in yet. She found him standing behind his desk, loading his personal effects into a cardboard box. She blinked in surprise, standing in the doorway, not quite believing her eyes.

She hadn't expected him to go nearly so easily.

He glared at her from behind his desk, his jaw working with repressed anger as he tossed a ceramic figure someone had given him rather carelessly into the box, not reacting to the ominous clinking sound of glass against glass. He reached for something on the desk beside the box before moving around the desk and holding it out to Cuddy – a narrow, white envelope, unsealed.

Cuddy opened it, not really surprised at this point to find a formal resignation letter inside. She glanced over it, noting the rather generic wording, citing "personal issues" as his reason for terminating his employment. She looked up at him, studying him for a moment as he continued packing his things.

"You know you're lucky I'm accepting this at all," she informed him in a frosty tone of accusation.

"_Don't_." Wilson's voice trembled with anger.

Perversely, it only made Cuddy want to provoke him more.

_Let's see you just try and lay a hand on _me, here_. See how much power you have in _this_ situation, you abusive bastard._

"I'm serious," she insisted, a challenge in her tone, almost daring him to try something. "I could easily tear this up and fire you on the spot for what you've done. Leave you with a huge black mark on your personal record that would keep you from finding another job at any reputable hospital in the country."

Wilson stopped his packing, looking up at her with smoldering resentment in his eyes. "Gloating seems a little beneath you," he snapped. "You just feel the need to state the obvious?"

"No," Cuddy countered, smiling, unfazed by his scathing hostility. She slowly paced nearer to him, her eyes narrowed in warning as she held his gaze. She paused, weighing each word for maximum impact when at last she slowly continued. "If you ever touch House again… I will make sure that finding a new job is the least of your worries."

She was gratified by the brief flash of fear she saw in Wilson's eyes, and the knowledge that he knew exactly what she was threatening. As much as he tried to pretend that what had happened between him and House was no big deal – just a momentary lapse in which he'd lost his temper – he knew very well that what he had done already was more than enough to not only end his career, but also put him in prison for a few years.

His jaw worked with repressed rage, but Wilson didn't dare to argue with her on her point. After a moment he simply turned pointedly away from her, continuing to toss his possessions into the box with far greater force than was necessary. Content that her point had been made, Cuddy turned as well and left the room, making her way back toward her own office.

Once she had disappeared down the hall, Wilson stood there for a moment, struggling to rein his fury under his control. His fists trembled at his sides as her condescending, accusing words played over and over in his mind. Finally, Wilson's rage overwhelmed him, and he picked up a ceramic teddy bear from the box and hurled it across the room, taking perverse satisfaction in the shattering sound as it collided with the wall.

_She can't do this to me. Neither of them can. House is mine, and_ no one _can keep him from me!_

****************************

House was grateful for the rather intriguing case of his current patient, unusual enough to provide him with sufficient distraction for the day. He needed to keep his mind off of Wilson, and the doubtful thoughts that plagued him, making him wonder whether or not he was making the right choice, whether or not he should just call Wilson and tell him to come home.

Deep down, he knew better – but there were moments when that knowledge didn't feel like it was going to be enough to make him stay away from the danger that Wilson had come to present.

Young Clancy and the fact that alien abduction was actually beginning to sound like a viable diagnosis option in his case were, thankfully, a sufficient distraction.

_Too bad I'm so good,_ House thought with a little smirk that swiftly faded as he settled behind his desk at the end of the day. _Now I need a new distraction._

As if on cue, at that moment, a shadow passed over his doorway, blocking out the light from the hall and drawing his attention. House tried to ignore the uneasy somersaults in his stomach and his own slight flinch before he looked up and realized who was there.

_Just Cuddy. Nothing to worry about._

The look of sympathetic sadness on her face made House feel a rush of embarrassed irritation, and he rolled his eyes as he leaned casually back in his chair with his hands locked behind his head.

"Aww, you're checking up on me," he drawled with false gratitude. "That'd be sweet if it wasn't so patronizing."

Cuddy did not seem bothered by his hostility. She walked around his desk and leaned against the edge of it, patiently holding his gaze despite his mockery. "I like to think I know how to be both at the same time," she remarked with a little shrug.

House couldn't help but smile a little at that, letting out a soft huff of teasing amusement. "Yeah, I'd say that's an act you've got down pat."

Cuddy laughed easily, though the laugh and the smile that accompanied it soon faded away, her expression becoming solemn and concerned.

"Have you seen Wilson today?"

House blinked, startled by the question, his stomach lurching in response to its implications. He somehow managed to keep his voice steady as he countered with another question.

"He's here?"

"He was," Cuddy clarified, her eyes narrowed slightly in speculation at his reaction. "Just to pick up his things."

House's eyes widened at that. "You fired him?"

"I told him I would if he laid another hand on you." She paused, amending her words with a half-shrug. "Actually, I told him I would if he continued a relationship with you at all." Something dark and regretful flashed in her eyes as she added softly, "And I should have stuck to that. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened..."

"And maybe if I hadn't been a moron who'd fallen for him over and over again, then you wouldn't have had to make that call in the first place."

Cuddy seemed startled by his blunt, straightforward words -- far more direct and open about his own responsibility for the whole affair than she had heard him about anything, ever before.

"We've both made mistakes," she finally concluded, her tone slow and cautious. "But hopefully that's all in the past. We've learned from them, and we've put Wilson out of our lives... and we can start to... recover."

House knew that she was only using the plural pronoun to camouflage words that might otherwise have come across as patronizing and overly mothering. _She _didn't have any recovering to do, really; but she was clearly determined to make sure that he found a way to get past this and get his life back. Ordinarily, he would have found the gentle intrusion irritating and embarrassing.

In this instance, he found that he was strangely grateful for it.

"Well, I've got a couple of meetings to get through this afternoon," Cuddy said after a few moments of silence that wasn't quite awkward. "I just wanted to check and make sure that... that everything was going all right, and... that Wilson actually left when I told him to."

House nodded once in acceptance of her words, affirming, "Haven't seen him."

"Good." Cuddy smiled, standing up straight and walking back around the desk. "I'll be in my office if you need anything."

She didn't wait to hear him insist that he wouldn't.

House wanted to feel annoyance at her meddling, but somehow he just couldn't. He knew that she meant well, and he also knew that without her interference, he might very well be dead right now.

Wilson had pushed matters farther than ever before with the shooting, albeit accidental; and House knew that ending their relationship was the only thing he could do to protect himself. Still, if he hadn't called Cuddy when Wilson received the restraining order, House wasn't sure what might have happened.

He was fairly certain that he would have ended up letting Wilson into his apartment.

And what Wilson might have done then -- well, House didn't really want to think about it.

_No, it's good that she's looking out for you, whether you like it or not,_ he admitted to himself at last with a private, affectionate smile toward the woman who was no longer there. _Since apparently you're no good at looking out for yourself._


	50. Chapter 50

House's mood was better than it had been in weeks as he left his shift in the clinic to go and check on his current patient. He was even humming a little under his breath as he made his way toward his office, where his team was waiting.

It had been a long time since he'd felt so flattered.

Of course, he knew better than to allow anything to happen between himself and the ridiculously attractive teenager whose father he had just treated. Contrary to what he read in Cuddy's alarmed, warning expression as she'd watched him watching the girl leave, House was neither a pedophile nor an idiot. Even if the girl pressed the issue – and there was a nice fantasy in which to indulge – House would never be foolish enough to do anything other than reject her advances.

_Still… it couldn't hurt to dream._

At first, he'd almost felt a little suspicious, wondering if there might be some ulterior motives, when the teenager had begun flirting with him. Then, when he'd realized that she was simply attracted to him, suspicion had turned to pleased surprise. He marveled that a young, beautiful girl like her could find anything attractive in an older, crippled, cranky man like himself.

As he made his way down the hallway, more cheerfully than usual, House realized just how profound an effect Wilson's abuse had had on him over the past two years. His self-esteem was in tatters, so much so that the very idea of someone besides Wilson finding him attractive at all had been foreign to him. He'd spent so long convinced that he had no alternative, that the only one who would ever want him was Wilson – that he somehow deserved no better than the physical and emotional violence Wilson chose to deal him on a nearly daily basis.

All things considered, House saw nothing wrong with indulging in a little harmless fantasy and enjoying the attention, as long as it didn't go any farther than that.

To his surprise, the girl – Ali, she informed him the next day – seemed determined to make it go farther than that. She showed up at the hospital twice more that week, and called several times more when she was turned away by either Cuddy or House's team. Her harmless crush only seemed to intensify over the course of the next few days.

Cuddy was horrified and agitated, warning House repeatedly not to get involved with the girl or do anything to encourage her. House agreed, not bothering to try to hide his amusement at the situation. He knew she was right, and knew better than to get into the kind of trouble involving himself with a minor could cause.

Still, he couldn't help but enjoy it a little.

House's good mood lingered throughout the week, even as he headed for his car to go home on Friday evening. The sound of the song he was softly singing echoed off the walls of the parking garage, and House smiled, enjoying the acoustics that made the notes sound richer and fuller.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good.

He hadn't heard from Wilson since he'd turned in his resignation. He hadn't expected Wilson to accept the restraining order so easily; but he hadn't shown up at the apartment again, or the hospital – hadn't so much as called. House missed him, of course – but he had to admit that not having him around was like having an overwhelming weight removed from his shoulders.

He felt _free _again, for the first time in years.

With his luck… it couldn't last long.

House reached into his pocket for the keys to his car, humming softly under his breath as he located the right one and started to put it into the lock. He didn't get that far, however, before he felt a strong grip on his arm, pulling his hand away from the door. Before he could react, he was spun forcefully around and pushed up against the side of the car.

He instinctively cried out in startled fear, but the sound was swiftly muffled by a strong hand over his mouth, pressing his head back against the roof of the car. There was a momentary feeling of relief when he recognized Wilson, and realized that at least he was not being car-jacked or mugged by some stranger – followed by the sick, sinking realization that being alone with Wilson, in this scenario, might be the more dangerous of the two situations.

He tried to pull his head away from Wilson's grasp, raising his cane in his free hand. Wilson released his left wrist long enough to grab the cane and toss it across the concrete several yards away, then grabbed his arm again, his other hand following the motion of House's head to keep his mouth covered and keep him from crying out.

"Shhh," Wilson soothed him in a whisper, his gaze intent and urgent as he used his body to pin House against the car and prevent his escape. "Easy, I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna talk to you. Easy, House, come on… settle down…"

Panicked, House ignored Wilson's words, struggling to pull free. He felt trapped, claustrophobic, unable to move… barely able to breathe, with Wilson's hand over his mouth. He tried to push Wilson back, but couldn't get his balance without his cane.

Wilson clearly had the advantage, but he was not satisfied with that.

Frustrated and furious, Wilson abruptly released House's mouth, just to grab his free arm and slam him hard against the side of the car. His voice went from soft and cajoling to a vicious, threatening snarl in an instant.

"Stop it, House, just shut up and _stop it_!"

House flinched, going abruptly silent, his stomach in his throat as he struggled to obey, against his instincts. His heart raced with fear, but he dared not resist any farther, not when he'd been disarmed and rendered helpless. He had seen this side of Wilson far too many times in the past two years to defy him now.

"Y-you're not supposed to… to be here," he ventured, his voice barely over a whisper. "You're not supposed to touch me…"

Wilson's smile was cold, frightening, as he edged in nearer to House, one hand rising toward his face again; but instead of reaching for his mouth, Wilson's hand closed firmly around House's throat, tightening just slightly as House drew in a sharp, shaky breath, wide-eyed with alarm.

"I haven't hurt you, House," Wilson reminded him softly. "Haven't left a single mark. It' my word against yours if you tell anyone about this – and you've just been through a pretty severe trauma. It's understandable if you have a little freak-out walking through the parking garage alone at night." Wilson shrugged, his smile fading, his tone dropping in warning as he added, "But there won't be a single shred of evidence that I was ever here, House, if you go to the police. All you'll do…" His hand tightened slightly, and House let out a choked, wordless cry of pleading alarm. "… is _piss me off_."

House wasn't sure that Wilson's explanation was at all accurate. Had he been able to think clearly, he'd have remembered that the law was almost always on the side of the victim in these cases. However, it was difficult to focus on such rationalities in the midst of the terrifying situation in which he'd found himself.

It was difficult to focus on anything besides simply drawing his next breath.

"I saw you with that girl, House," Wilson informed him in a hushed, secretive tone, a smile on his lips that didn't match the blazing fury in his dark eyes. "I saw you flirting with her… leading her on."

House frowned, trying to shake his head, his lips parted to argue, but Wilson just increased the force of his grip, pressing House's head back against the car. The wordless order to silence was clear, and House bit his lip, forcing back his words of explanation.

Wilson's lips twisted into a vicious sneer as he whispered in clear disgust, "Have you really sunk so low, House?"

His grip eased slightly, and it seemed that this time he was actually expecting an answer, so House swallowed hard to dampen his dry throat and attempted to explain. "It's not… not what you think. She just… has a crush. It's nothing, I swear, I'm not… leading her on…"

"That's not how it looked from what I saw," Wilson countered, suspicious resentment in his voice.

House wanted to ask him what he'd seen, and from where – but he didn't dare. He felt sick at the thought of Wilson somehow spying on him over the course of the past week, when House had thought that he was actually respecting his limits and staying away. A chill of apprehension went through him as he realized that the safety and freedom he'd felt had been nothing more than an illusion.

"You listen to me, House," Wilson continued, and the menace in his voice drew House's attention back to him. "I don't know what you think you're playing at with that little piece of jailbait, but I'm telling you now, if I see you with her again, I'm going to do something about it. All it will take is a single anonymous call to get you fired, investigated – probably arrested for child abuse. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

House shook his head automatically, though the threat was far emptier than the physical threat Wilson was still presenting at the moment. House knew that he had done nothing with Ali and therefore there would be no cause for any charges against him.

He also knew that if Wilson really felt he'd slept with Ali, he would not stop at simply phoning the police.

"I don't care what that stupid piece of paper says, House," Wilson went on, easing his hand slowly away from House's throat and allowing him to raise his head, his voice soft and calm, frighteningly controlled. He waited until House warily met his gaze to conclude, "You're still mine. You always will be. Cuddy, the authorities – no one can change that. Not even you. We belong together, and sooner or later you're going to remember that."

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, Wilson released House and turned to walk away, leaving House leaning against the side of his car clutching his throat, staring after him in confusion and fear. Shaken, House tried to make sense of what had just happened, tried to decide what he should do next.

Despite what Wilson had done, he couldn't quite bring himself to call the police and have him arrested.

_Cuddy could. She'd do it in a heartbeat._

He considered calling Cuddy and telling her what had happened, but swiftly rejected that idea. He didn't want to drag her into this and take the chance of Wilson hurting her as well. Also, if Wilson was watching him – as he obviously was – he knew that Wilson would not be pleased to find that House had turned him in, even if only to Cuddy. House shuddered at the thought of how much further Wilson might take things if he found that House had told someone about this encounter.

His hands trembled as he unlocked his car and got inside, immediately locking the doors. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to get his emotions under control enough to safely drive home – wondering if Wilson was waiting somewhere just out of sight to follow him.

Once home, he moved as quickly as he could up the sidewalk to his door, opening it and locking himself in, though still not feeling secure. He pulled all the blinds, double-checked the door again, then took the phone off the hook. He didn't think Wilson would call – he hadn't thus far – but House couldn't think of anyone else he'd want to talk to tonight, either.

He wanted to feel alone and secluded and safe.

He lay down in his bed, but soon discovered that his tactics were unsuccessful. No matter what he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to feel safe at all any time soon.

He didn't sleep at all that night.


End file.
